


Misfits

by Clementive



Category: Naruto
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Arranged Marriage, Childhood Trauma, Drama & Romance, Eventual Smut, F/M, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Light Angst, M/M, Marriage of Convenience, Mentions of Cancer, Minor Character Death, Minor Inuzuka Kiba/Kankuro, Minor Nara Shikamaru/Temari, No cheating, Protective Siblings, Self-Esteem Issues, Slow Burn, Very Minor Hyuuga Neji/Tenten, past GaaKin relationship, sand siblings dynamics
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-04
Updated: 2020-05-05
Packaged: 2020-10-09 23:03:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 55,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20517908
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Clementive/pseuds/Clementive
Summary: Marrying a CEO in the midst of a romantic scandal to pay for med school is not the happy ending Sakura envisioned for herself. The marriage of convenience that started as constant bickering slowly evolves into so much more...





	1. Be Ruthless

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally posted on Tumblr as part of the GaaSaku fanfest in August. I've since reworked on the fic and expanded it quite a bit.
> 
> Enjoy! :)

Gaara Sabaku focused on the clock over her grandmother's office.

It throbbed. Time passed. He ignored everything else.

In his peripheral vision, his grandmother's mouth was blurry, her lipstick stretched, a floating cloud of red, as she shouted at him. His hand closed around his wrist watch, and he narrowed his eyes at the little hand moving slowly on the wall.

In 15 minutes, he would excuse himself to his meeting with new investors.

In one hour, it would be time to prepare for his interview: make-up, change of clothes, a microphone clipped to his tie.

In one hour twenty minutes, he would be on air answering questions about his recent acquisition of a dying familial company. What were his plans to revive it? He had prepared a stiff answer outlining five main business strategies.

"Are you listening, Gaara?" Chiyo Sabaku snapped and slapped the newspaper on the table in front of him.

Slowly, Gaara turned his head toward her, his pale eyes reluctantly glancing away from the clock. His grandmother's cheeks were rosy, her neat beige suit uneven across her shoulders from her gesturing. His brother, Kankuro, cleared his throat and nudged his thigh, widening his eyes at him. Gaara blinked back at him, until Kankuro mouthed: "answer her."

"Yes," Gaara replied, and Kankuro nudged him again. "Yes, I'm listening, obaasan."

Chiyo glared at him, breathing sharply from her nose. She pulled at her suit jacket sharply rearranging it over her small frame. Stiffly, she walked back to her desk and sat down, surveying her two grandsons with a twisted mouth. The title of director of the hospital gleamed in front of her as she laced her fingers together.

"Well, let's discuss how to fix this."

"It's not that bad, obaasan, I mean..." Kankuro drawled out and reached over the table to spin the newspaper toward him. "We can only see his hand on her back, and... Well, good for you, little bro. That's clearly some tongue action."

Gaara grunted.

"Shut up, Kankuro," Temari snapped icily.

She hadn't moved the window since Gaara and Kankuro had arrived. She stood still, her arms crossed over her chest, her back rigid, her face only a shadowy profile.

"Well, obviously, you're all blaming me," Kankuro said dryly, "but I didn't know he would lose his tongue and hands along the way when I asked him to pick me up."

Temari turned toward them, her eyes narrowed at Gaara.

"You should have called me," she snapped.

"You were with that lazy bum of yours," Gaara shrugged, and he glanced back at the clock.

"Why you little..."

Temari walked promptly toward her brothers and grabbed the newspaper. She hit her brothers' heads with it rolled tightly. Gaara and Kankuro grimaced, trying to cover their heads.

"OI! CALM DOWN!"

"Temari..."

"Enough!" Chiyo shouted with her palms raised.

She sighed and massaged her temples.

Temari hissed insults at her brothers before taking her place by the window. Her body stiffened in an angry cold posture. Her golden skin shimmered in the high sun, her teal eyes piercing through them.

Kankuro tsked his fingers while combing through his hair.

"If this is how you react when we mention that-" he started sardonically.

"I said enough!" Chiyo repeated with a tired voice.

Her chair spun toward her degrees and prizes hung across her wall. She had built the hospital from the ground, just as Gaara had built his company from the gaping hole of his father's dishonour. She sighed.

"Gaara, bring out your girlfriend into the spotlight, and we say it was her."

Gaara shifted in his seat.

"She broke it off with me," he said dully, his eyes following the new turn of the little hand on his grandmother's clock.

Soon. _Soon_.

Kankuro swore under his breath, and he glanced curiously at his little brother.

His face was expressionless, but his jaw clenched, small tremors spreading around his mouth. Like when he was lying. Kankuro closed his eyes, grimacing, praying Temari wouldn't notice.

Chiyo clicked her tongue, her brows furrowed.

"You should have told us. There's this scandal, and the chairman's elections are two months away... oh, dear me. Why did you buy off this little useless company, huh? Do you think you can afford to make mistakes right now?" her voice boomed, and Gaara shifted again in his seat. "The board of directors is already angry with you, and now this!" Chiyo slapped the picture with a disdainful hand heavy with jewelry. "I think it's time we consider arrangements," she concluded bluntly.

Kankuro picked at the leather of the armrest, glancing sideways at Gaara. His little brother didn't react, his eyes drawn again and again to the clock.

In eight minutes, he would excuse himself to his meeting with his investors...

"You're not arranging his life, obaasan," Temari said breathlessly, and Kankuro looked over his shoulder at her.

She was biting her lip, her face pale, her dark lipstick slightly smudged. They were the elders, but somehow Gaara had carried the family crest alone ever since he was a child.

"He doesn't have a choice!" Chiyo shook her finger at them. "Caught kissing like a teenager. Tsk, you don't think investors will turn away from him now? Unmarried, and unable to provide a clean image of a serious reliable man… This family is nobility." her voice was shrill, and the siblings all bowed their heads, flinching. At their father's funeral, the few who did show up said: '_This family _was_ nobility. __What a shame. Poor children, they'll grow with nothing but disgrace._'

"We can't afford the scandal. We bury it with a real marriage announcement and call this his wife."

"Obaasan, please! He's still young!" Temari protested, but Gaara stood up buttoning back his suit jacket.

"I'm not a child anymore, Tem," he said and smoothed the wrinkles, readjusted his tie. "I appreciate the concern, but she's right. Arrange it, obaasan, pick someone who needs my protection, fame and money."

"But..." Chiyo faltered, now standing up too. "We should consider the noble families..."

"No," Gaara said coldly, the corner of his mouth twitching. "This is how I want it. Now, if you would excuse me, I have a meeting with my investors."

* * *

Sakura Haruno waited, tensed muscles that snapped and spasmed. Her bun was too tight at the base of her nape. Her clothes felt like irritating wool against her skin, rubbing her raw. And always the thinning grating voice: '_you don't belong here_.'

The waiting in front of the director's office was empty, pale grey armchairs were spread across the room, small tables by their right side. It was airy and elegant, and Sakura wished she had removed the hot pink nail polish half-chewed away. Or chosen a softer colour that could blend with the room. A neutral colour. An expensive manicure she couldn't afford.

Sakura winced and reached for the glass of water the secretary had placed to her right.

She had buried the letter of summon in her purse, but the words still spun in her head, the numbers wailing, harassing her. Her mind was loud, divided, despite the calm and serenity of the waiting room.

She had arrived 30 minutes early for her appointment with the director of the hospital, and she wished time would stop, so she could finally have enough time to breathe. Come up with the money. Pay off her crushing debts.

Biting her below lip, Sakura rubbed her hands on her thighs smoothing again her dark skirt. Her nails dug into her thigh when her leg started shaking. She tried to straighten her back, her fingers jerking to quell the urge to nibble on her thumb. Her back still in a rigid position, Sakura craned her beck to look at the secretary half-hidden behind the tall reception desk.

The door of the director's office opened briskly.

Sakura sprung to her feet, clutching her purse, her eyes widened in surprise.

A young man in a suit emerged, his eyes on his wrist watch. His red hair was unruly, but the rest of his appearance was calculated, from the colour of his tie to the one of his pocket square in his breast pocket. A woman and a man hurried after him.

"You can't possibly agree to this," the woman shouted, and her heels clicked rapidly, loud.

Her blond sandy spilled across her neck, slipping out of hair ties as she shook her head. She put her hand on the man's arm as if to stop him or comfort him, but he didn't seem to notice. The other man trailed behind his hands deep in his pockets, his steps reluctant, his dark eyes drifting across the familiar touch, as if he were a stranger.

Sakura felt herself blush at the loudness of the woman's voice, her partner's indifference and the other man's uncomfortable silence.

"Hn, this is final," Sakura heard the red-haired man replied in a dull voice, as they brushed by her.

Sakura bowed quickly.

The secretary stepped close to her, her hands delicately joined in front of her in a gesture of respect.

"Director Sabaku will see you now, Haruno-san."

Sakura startled, tearing her glance away from the trio waiting sullenly by the elevators. She cleared her throat readjusting her purse strapped over her shoulder.

"Thank you," Sakura smiled and bowed her head.

Sakura's fists shook as she followed the secretary. She squared her shoulders. She straightened her back, smoothing distractedly her skirt one last time. She had dressed up in her best clothes. There ought to be a way out.

_You don't belong here_.

_If your tuition is not paid in its fullest by next Friday..._

The director's face was drawn, carved by wrinkles that jerked. Her usual warm brown eyes bored through her. Sakura bowed stiffly, her hands growing cold.

"Sakura, sit."

Sakura sat down slowly in the closest armchair, smoothing her skirt under her. She cleared her throat when the silence between them stretched, and all she could hear was the ticking of the clock above the director's office.

"How are you, Chiyo-sama?"

"Enough with the niceties and the small talk," Chiyo snapped and stood up abruptly. "I want you to tell me what happened."

She paced, her mouth quivering while she mumbled to herself.

"The school-"

"The school sent me this ridiculous letter stating you're to be kicked out of the faculty, and your student visa revoked."

"I didn't get a scholarship for next year," Sakura said quietly with a forced smile. She squared her shoulders. Again. Rigid back. She was uncomfortable. Maybe she was even delusional about becoming a doctor in a strange land.

She had lived one day at a time, counting and recounting coins. There was nothing left to count now.

"I'll find the money another way. It's just the delay..."

"You have a student visa, Sakura," Chiyo interrupted her, frowning at the letter in front of her. "At the end of this semester, if you're not enrolled at the university, you have to go back home. There's nothing I can do."

"I'll find the money, Chiyo-sama," Sakura injected more firmness, more confidence in her voice. "If you could just plead with the board of directors..."

Sighing loudly, Chiyo threw her reading glasses on the desk and leaned back in her chair. Sakura snapped her mouth shut. She had never noticed how small and frail the director looked, half swallowed by an armchair and her title. Her head bobbed back against the headrest of her armchair, and she moaned.

Chiyo bent over swiftly, her arms back on her desk, her fingers laced together.

She filled the room once more.

"I'm sorry, Sakura. I'm being harsh with you because of my grandson," she clicked her tongue and shook her head. "He caused me quite the headache this morning."

"I'm sorry to hear that, Chiyo-sama."

The director cocked her head to the side, her glance piercing. Sakura blushed under her scrutiny, her hands curling swiftly to hide her hot pink nails.

"Sakura… Are you in a relationship with anyone?"

Sakura blinked, surprised by the gentle tone.

"No," she laughed nervously, glancing away as her face burnt. "I only have time for my hospital shifts and studying."

"Any family back in Konoha?"

She shook her head.

"Just some second-cousins."

Director Chiyo leaned back on her arm, knocking her knuckles on her desk. She still watched her intently. Sakura shifted in her seat, involuntary, limbs folding back uncomfortably on themselves. She was small, a small girl in a big room. In a big world.

"I'll make sure you have all the money you could ever dream on. You can finish your studies, be the doctor we both know you can be."

"Chiyo-sama!" Sakura gasped.

Chiyo held up a finger.

"If you marry my grandson."

"What?" Sakura stammered, colours draining from her face.

"He's a CEO who has made one too many mistakes lately. He needs someone like you to appear next to him and improve his image. You make sure he looks like a good reliable man, and I make sure you finish your studies."

"Chiyo-sama… I…"

"I'm not going to lie," she interrupted and her chair rolled toward the wall behind her where her whole life was displayed. "He was caught on camera kissing a lady. I'll spin this around for the family honour; this was you and, he's married to you."

"_I can't get married_," Sakura said dully in her native language.

Chiyo turned her chair back toward her, her brows furrowed.

"Now, you listen to me: don't throw your future away. You have nothing." she waved her hand in front of her and Sakura blanched, wondering if she would ever look like she belonged. "You're smart, but you have no family crest, no money, no family. You could have everything, if you say yes. How do you think I got to sit on this chair, huh? You think, I said no to using a man's title or influence? If a woman isn't ruthless about what she wants, she never reaches her full potential." Her featured softened. "Just meet him, first, and then decide."

"I'm running out of time… If by next Friday..." Sakura muttered, frozen into place.

"Well," Chiyo said with plucked lips, but her tone was gentle. "I suggest you meet him and decide quickly."

* * *

_Gaara Sabaku, _his name infiltrated her thoughts as Sakura lay in the darkness.

Director Sabaku had handed Sakura her card with her private cellphone number.

"_Think about it_," the director had repeated when she had walked her out of her office. "_Think about it._" Her glance had cut through her.

As always, Sakura's mind was divided, two clear pieces that fought ruthlessly: _she couldn't do this_. _She would do this_. There was the meek girl, terrified, crushed by loneliness, that trailed after the woman she had become. Squared shoulders, no glance back to the past, she reminded herself sternly.

Sakura rubbed her temples.

She had received a second eviction notice. It was now Tuesday and the passing time now rushed, leaving her chasing behind a dream breathless. She needed money.

She needed to belong here. As a doctor. As someone who wasn't the meek girl with the big forehead and giant dreams who was bullied.

Sakura rolled and tossed in her bed, her sheets tangled around her, then kicked off them her bed. The fabric snapped and pooled on the floor. She groaned and rubbed at her face, sitting up. She moved her hands away from her face and glanced at her ring finger. Her hands trembled.

_She couldn't do this._

_She would do this._

As a doctor, Sakura couldn't afford trembling hands.

Sakura bent over her bed on all fours to pick up the bed sheets from the floor. She wrapped them around her shoulders and lay back on the bed. She unlocked her phone's screen, biting her lip as she typed his name in a search engine. She scrolled down, her heart throbbing, her breath caught painfully in her throat. The majority of headlines showed him in a blurry photo half-turned away from the camera. His head was bent over a petite woman, his eyes closed. From the woman, she could only see a shadowy figure wrapped in a long coat, a delicate hand cupping his cheek.

_Could this be __me__? _Sakura wondered involuntarily.

She didn't sleep.

She stared at the ceiling.

She stared at her ringless hand.

She stared at her medical textbooks, the eviction notice placed on top of it, the letter from the university about her tuition folded next to the pile.

Could she be that ruthless about her future?

_Yes_.

* * *

The music in the bar rattled his bones, loud and off-beat, and Gaara gritted his teeth, all of his body on edge. He barely acknowledged Kiba when he stood up and excused himself. He could feel Kankuro's dark stare on him, and instinctively his shoulders tensed up.

Recently there had been nothing but tension between him and his siblings. With Temari's engagement to Shikamaru Nara and her plan to move to his hometown, Kankuro and Gaara had gone drinking more frequently, never talking about the move.

They never talked about family.

And Temari was pulling away from them.

"Is there something you'd like to tell me?" Kankuro said and his gaze drifted to the crowd gleaming in purple and pink lights. "You've about five minutes before Kiba comes back from the bathroom."

"Hn, " Gaara growled and downed his beer.

"I know you lied about that break-up. What's going on?" Kankuro asked sternly. "Please tell me you're not stringing someone along. We raised you better than that."

Gaara's mouth twitched. He glanced at his watch, but there was nothing on his agenda next. He couldn't make excuse and leave.

"I wanted Temari and obaasan off my back," he grudgingly admitted, and glanced up quickly at Kankuro's shocked face.

Gaara turned his pale gaze to the crowd. He wanted to reach for his forehead, touched the tattoo there. _Love_. He was surprised his lie had lasted that long. Didn't they know no one could ever love him?

"What does that mean?" Kankuro whispered loudly.

Gaara's hand stiffened around his empty glass.

"There never was a girlfriend."

"Who the hell was that on the picture then?" Kankuro asked in a low voice, his eyes narrowed. He seemed to plead him: 'Don't tell me it was her. Don't tell me it was her. Everyone, but her!'

"Hn."

"Gaara!" Kankuro shouted, and his face tensed like a crumbling mask.

"Kin. It was Kin."

"For fuck's sakes," his brother swore under his breath before downing his own beer.

"She won't say anything," Gaara said quickly, but Kankuro's glare only intensified.

"Oh yeah? Did you forget she works for Orochimaru? Did you forget how much clean up we needed to do last time, huh?"

"I was drunk. She was there..."

"Are you being daft or naïve right now?" Kankuro carefully lowered the glass back to the table, but his voice boomed, the rest of him loud and cold. He looked like their father the most when he was angry. "_Of course, she was there_! She's _always_ fucking there working for that snake."

"Hn."

Kankuro smacked his lips together and pushed his empty glass toward the centre of the table with the other empty ones.

"Now, you listen to me, Gaara," he snapped and shook his finger at him in a familiar gesture, and Gaara immediately tensed. Even if it wasn't his father. Even if he had been dead for years now. He still tensed, steeling himself for a blow, his eyes burning with hatred.

Kankuro faltered when his face changed, and they both held their breath. Kankuro slowly curled his fists in a fist. He knocked on the sticky table to punctuate his words.

"You get married to a nice simple girl, and you stop that shit with Kin, alright?" Kankuro finished with an even voice.

"What do you think I'm doing right now?" Gaara said and they both pretended they weren't haunted by their angry and bitter father.

"I don't know. What the fuck were you thinking? God."

"We only kissed."

"Yeah, the whole country saw, little bro," Kankuro said sarcastically. "If you had slept with her it would be all over the papers."

They remained silent for a while, their jaws clenched, their eyes devouring the crowd of happy sweaty bodies.

"Can we not be angry with each other?" Gaara said softly.

They haltered.

They locked eyes.

'Like we're angry with Temari,' Gaara didn't add, but the implication hung heavily in the air. Kankuro glanced away, his lips set a hard line.

"I'm annoyed, not angry."

"Your eyebrow is twitching."

"Kiba is coming back," Kankuro said stiffly, ignoring him. "Now, shut up, be a good little bro, and flag the waiter. I need a drink."

Gaara raised his hand, and leaned back against his chair, relieved that Kiba was loud enough to fill all the cracks of them.

"Another round, please," he called out, just as Kiba approached.

The waiter bowed and hurried back to the bar to make their drinks.

"All right, let's get this party started!" Kiba rubbed his hands together and sat down. "What did I miss?"

He looked between them, grinned, wolfish, his cheeks flushed beneath his clan's tattoos.

"Hn."

"Gaara is getting into an arranged marriage." Kankuro smiled thinly, his eyes hardening as he held his brother's eyes. "Isn't that just like in the movies?"

"Damn," Kiba whistled and drummed his fingers on the table. "Never mind the other round, let's do shots!"

Kankuro kissed his shoulder grinning.

"You're already drunk, hun."

"So? There's more alcohol behind that bar and Gaara still looks all stiff in that suit. Oi, do you ever take it off? Or do you sleep in it?"

"Very mature, Inuzuka," Gaara scowled at him when his phone vibrated in his pocket.

The waiter put their drinks in front of them and took away the empty glasses. He bowed low.

"Enjoy!"

Ignoring Kiba's smirk, Gaara took advantage of the waiter interrupting them and pulled his phone out of his inner pocket. He frowned at the screen. His grandmother had sent him a picture.

"No phone!" Kiba swatted his hand away.

Kankuro laughed quietly behind his glass. Kiba instinctively treated Gaara like his little brother, and Gaara reacted like he would with Kankuro: with gritted teeth, but carefully weighted words when he was annoyed.

"Touch me again and I'll snap your fingers," Gaara said darkly, his eyes still on the screen.

"So touchy," Kiba grinned.

"Who's that?" Kankuro asked with forced casualness.

"Obaasan... She wants me to marry a pink-haired woman. Hn. Do you think it's one of her pranks?"

"Show us the picture," Kiba gestured excitedly and sipped from his beer.

Gaara turned the phone toward them. Kankuro and Kiba inclined their heads in mirrored gesture, frowning at the picture, then looked at each other and shrugged.

"Obviously, we don't swing that way," Kiba said finally, "but she doesn't look like a troll."

"Yeah, she looks cute for someone with a vagina. I could call her my little sis."

"Hn," Gaara turned the phone back toward him.

She had the pale skin of a Northern foreigner, a hesitant smile, and wide green eyes. She wore bright colours that blended with the light pink of her hair.

So unlike Kin, who was dark and languid.

Even if their relationship had been fake, even if Orochimaru had pulled them together, Gaara had been desperate enough to grasp at crumbs of love to ignore the accumulating red flags. A scandal had been avoided by a hair with Kankuro and Shikamaru burying Kin in legal threats.

Gaara hadn't dated since.

When he had seen her again that night... He knew it was a mistake, but her mouth was hot on his and he felt energized, her skin rubbing against his.

And he closed his eyes and pretended he wasn't alone.

"Shots!" Gaara barked and gestured stiffly for the waiter, and Kiba cried out with glee, Kankuro carefully edging the drink away from his boyfriend.

Kiba pretended not to notice, but he squeezed Kankuro's hand.

Gaara watched them for a moment, his beer turning bitter on his tongue.

This was what he wanted: all the little things that Kankuro and Kiba, and Temari and Shikamaru did for each other.

All the little things that made him so painfully lonely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really excited to write GaaSaku for the first time. It was my first crack ship; I've always just liked their potential dynamics. I honest to God can't figure out why it took me so long to write them.
> 
> Anyway, here we are. :D
> 
> Just to let you know: next update will be posted in two weeks, so September 18th.
> 
> Thank you for reading! Comments are always appreciated! :)


	2. Act Happy

The IV dripped, and Chiyo felt more and more nauseous and irritated.

It seemed to her the timer was too slow. 15 minutes and 42 seconds left. Wasn't she always hooked to the machine, dependent of the clear liquid entering her bloodstream? Wasn't she old now? Definitely, irrevocably, medically, old, with a foot in the grave?

She laughed quietly shaking her head. It had never terrified before.

"Chiyo-sama," her assistant, Nozomi, muttered in front of her desk, and she raised her head.

Lowering her glasses on the desk, Chiyo glanced at the newspaper's headline her assistant mutely handed it to her. "_Who is __Sabaku Gaara's__ mystery woman?_" was written in capital letters across the front page. Sighing, she gestured toward the pile on the coffee table in front of her desk. Her assistant neatly added it to the mounting pile of newspapers and magazines.

In two days, the press had talked about nothing but Gaara's apparent love life. Some journalists had speculated the name of various celebrities as the mystery woman. Others have called his silent over the ordeal 'the proof of indecency'.

Nozomi waited politely by the door, her eyes on the floor.

"Is this the last of it?" Chiyo muttered, and she nodded stiffly, pressing her hands in front of her.

"Journalists are still calling for comments, Chiyo-sama," she said softly, and Chiyo made an irritated sloppy gesture with her hand designating the pile in front of her.

"You remind the staff that anyone caught talking to the press is fired."

"Yes, Chiyo-sama," she bowed her head.

Her head throbbed painfully as Chiyo leaned back against her chair. Her joints, her back hurt. Briefly, she touched the crook of her arm where the IV was inserted, an eye on the timer. In approximately 10 minutes, she would take it out.

She smiled sadly.

Now that she was old, now that she was fragile and sick, everything came down to minutes instead of years.

She once thought she had all the time in the world. How foolish. She had been a great doctor, but she was still mortal.

Chiyo closed her eyes and dismissed Nozomi with a sharp wave of the hand.

The door clicked softly.

Chiyo grunted when her phone buzzed noisily on her desk.

"Never a moment of peace," she sighed.

Blindly, she tossed paperwork and pens to retrieve it. She inclined her head and held the phone away from her face, so she could read the caller ID without her glasses.

_Sakura_.

Chiyo straightened her back in her chair, staring at the blinking cursor on her computer, as she pressed the phone to her ear.

"I'm glad you've called, Sakura," she said gently, and she smiled even if Sakura couldn't see her.

She had prepared for this. 'It'll be alright,' she would say if she mentioned her grandson's troubled past. 'He's changed.' She would make a joke or two about Gaara's garden and quiet nature: "_Couldn't hurt a fly in his own garden now. You should see that forest of his._"

"_I'll do it, __Chiyo-sama_," Sakura told her in a meek voice that wavered with the sound of traffic in the background.

Chiyo briefly pressed the phone to her shoulder, her eyes tightly closed. She shook herself and put the phone back to her ear.

"Good, I'm glad," she said and there was no trace of the relief she felt in her voice. "I'll make the necessary arrangements for a meeting."

"_Thank you, Chiyo-sama_," Sakura replied with a firmer voice.

"I'll talk to you soon, Sakura."

She hung up and slumped back into her chair. Her phone dropped in a muffled sound on her pile of paper work.

Silence didn't suit her.

Illness didn't suit her.

She felt old and weary, the nausea always stronger in the morning during and after treatment. The nausea itself was a timestamp: she had so little time left. Minutes. Hours. Days. Definitely not years.

Chiyo picked off her glasses from the pile of paperwork, and put them back on. She clasped her hands together in front of her. She surveyed the awards and trophies decorating her office.

All useless knickknacks.

She laughed quietly, an eye on the timer.

Maybe she would finally have an heiress. Temari had always resisted learning medicine, she was too impatient, too practical. Diagnostics never stimulated her. She preferred politics.

Chiyo sighed and retrieved her phone from her desk. It shook in her grasp as she dialled Gaara's number.

"_Obaasan_," he greeted in a bored voice after the second ring.

"Well?" she cried out and heavily sank back on her leather chair. "You should answer your grandmother when she texts you! I'm a dinosaur who can text! Why aren't you in awe?

"_I've been busy._"

"Never mind your pathetic excuses. What did you think of the picture of the girl I sent you?"

He grunted.

"_Is she from the noble families?_"

"You think I'm deaf or what? Of course not! She's a foreign med student at my hospital. One of the best I've ever seen in surgery in years. But she's so buried in debt, it's a wonder how she lasted this long." Chiyo paused and drummed her fingers on her desk. "This is what you wanted, right? Somebody to save."

"_Hn._"

"Gaara..." Chiyo sighed and twisted her pearls animatedly, and she felt nothing but the sharp tug in her IV line. She pretended it didn't exist. Her grandchildren had already lost so much. "You could have someone without history if you just let me-"

"_I've a bad history,_" he interrupted in a tensed voice.

Chiyo shook her head, her lips pinched, so he wouldn't hear her wheeze.

"It doesn't matter. You're rich. We're rich. I just want you to be certain, because you can't give hope to that girl and then change your mind, do you understand?"

"_Hn._"

"What was that?" she barked and cackled.

"_Yes, obaasan._"

She could easily picture him, with his nostrils pinched, rewording his answers carefully. He never cared about pleasing others, but he always corrected himself with her and his siblings. Her features softened, and she glanced at the family picture she kept next to her computer screen.

It had been taken a year after she had taken them in. She had taken it at the park, with them posing in front of the swings. Temari and Gaara wore stern expression, but Kankuro was smiling, his arms around both his siblings.

"I'll arrange a blind date then," Chiyo said softly and smiled.

"_Yes, obaasan._"

She heard him shift around.

"I'm not done!" Chiyo screeched. "Hang up on me and I'll scold you so hard your ears will whistle for a week."

"_What is it, obaasan?_"

Her smile slipped off her face and she tapped one finger on the picture. 4 minutes and 33 seconds left of the chemo. Gaara had always looked so grave even back then, a little boy with a dead man's face.

"Will the other girl be an issue?" she asked sternly.

"_No, obaasan,_" he said with a tired voice. "Kankuro said he'll take care of it."

"Good. Free your schedule for tomorrow morning."

After Chiyo hung up, she buzzed her assistant to remove the IV line.

Soon, it would be time to give up on the treatment.

Soon, it would be time to go.

She was doctor, she already knew her odds.

* * *

For their first meeting, Sakura had chosen a busy coffee shop near the hospital.

Her leg bounced, and she bit at the skin surrounding her thumb, her stomach knotted in a fist.

Sabaku Gaara walked it at 10 o'clock sharp, and Sakura instantly recognized him as the young man who had dashed out of Chiyo-sama's office before her appointment. His deep red hair was as unruly, locks falling across his forehead, and over his pale eyes.

She stood up on shaky legs. _Square your shoulders. __Straighten your back. __Chin up_, she urged herself, but his appearance had knocked the wind out of her, leaving her unstable. It was the intensity of his sunken stare, the fatigue etched in his features, the way he wore a designer's suit, and people stared at him.

Sakura blushed. Some customers appeared to recognize him, and a hushing uncomfortable silence fell over the coffee shop.

"Are you Sakura?" His voice was low, deep. Bored.

"Yes, nice to meet you, Gaara-sama," she bowed, and he merely sat down, unbuttoning his suit jacket with a precise flick of his wrist.

He looked at his watch.

'_Rude_,' she thought, annoyed. He hadn't even used a suffix for her name.

Sakura sat back down slowly, her lips pinched. She reached for her cup before remembering it was empty. He watched her with unsettling eyes. She pretended to drink, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment. Her eyes darted to the pieces of red ink on his forehead, half-hidden by his hair. '_Oh dear god, is this really a __CEO__?_'

"This is unbelievably awkward," Sakura said nervously to fill the lapsing silence, "and not just because you go around kissing mysterious women."

"Dancer," Gaara said, and he betrayed nothing. "She is a dancer, and I was quite drunk."

"You mean a stripper?" Sakura blushed.

Gaara raised an eyebrow at her.

Sakura gulped, her hand playing again with the empty cup. He followed her gestures with indifference, immobile, immutable. He was a man in a shield.

"Do you want some coffee, Gaara-sama?"

"I don't have much time," he replied stiffly, and he closed his mouth abruptly. "I apologize. My brother told me not to say that."

Sakura cleared her throat. '_What a weirdo..._' she thought.

"Alright, I'll go straight to the point: If we do this, we need a contract," Sakura said thickly.

There was no "_if_" in her case. Without this marriage, without money, she would need to fly back to Konoha.

"A contract?" His head tilted slightly. "You mean, other than a notarized marriage contract?"

"Yes, I marry you under some conditions."

Gaara nodded sharply, and gestured for her to go on before glancing at his watch.

"Have you drafted this contract?"

Sakura reached for her purse and rummaged inside. She heard him shift in his seat, and she wondered if he only moved, only betrayed things when no one was looking. She finally pulled out a crumbled piece of paper. She smoothed it over, her tongue poking out between her lips.

Gaara shifted in his seat again, his lips disappearing in a sharp line, his brow twitching.

"Isn't this a medical assessment form?" he pointed at the header. "Does my grandmother know this is how you use the hospital's supplies?"

Sakura cleared her throat, her face flushed, and began to read: "Number one, I won't do the pageant wife thing. I work at the hospital. I'll show up next to you when I can, not when you need me to. If I'm working, I'm working."

Sakura paused looking up at him. He still stared at the piece of paper, his lips thin and his jaw set.

"Do you have any questions or…"

"I'm waiting for you to finish," he replied coldly, and he tapped on his wristwatch with one index while his stare remained on her.

Sakura tensed, uncomfortably jerking back in her seat. _Squared shoulders. Straight back. Chin up._

"Number two, you touch me without consent, I saw your head off."

"I don't think you can include threats in a legally binding contract. Try to reformulate the sentence accordingly."

They locked eyes, her startled ones and his cold ones.

He was unshakable.

He was the voice in her head telling her she didn't belong.

Sakura cleared her throat, glancing away first.

"Number three," she pushed on, annoyed, and her words rubbed her raw. "I won't be your housekeeper or your cook."

His lips curled back in disgust, he designated her contract vaguely.

"I'm certain housekeeping is not a possibility for you."

"Number four," Sakura snapped raising her voice above his. Her heart pounded. She would be heard. And she would not bow if he weren't going to bow back to her.

_Squared shoulders, straight back, chin up_.

"You pay for my tuition in full, and you give me the same amount as my scholarship per year until I'm done with school. Then I become a doctor, and I pay you back."

"Hn." Gaara neatly pushed his suit jacket aside and took out a business card from his inner pocket. "Here."

Sakura blinked at the card and took it with both hands. Inwardly, she kicked herself. There she was again being formal to a man without manners.

She blinked in confusion at the name on the card: Matsuri Yasui, executive assistant.

"What's that?"

"The email of my executive assistant," Gaara said and stood up, his eyes on his watch. "I'm not signing anything that isn't typed out on an acceptable piece of paper and reviewed by my legal team."

Gaara buttoned back his jacket suit and readjusted his cuffs with precise movements. His movements ticked like a clock, an unhurried precise rhythm.

"You're leaving?" Sakura stammered and in spite of herself, she stood up too, the card shaking, wrinkling in her grasp.

"Yes, we're done, aren't we?" Gaara looked at her sharply.

"What about you?" Sakura frowned. "Don't you want anything? You're just..." she flinched under his cold stare. She gulped and pressed her hands together, trying to contain her agitation. "You're just alright with marrying me?"

"I need this marriage. You also need it. What's more to discuss?" Gaara said with disinterest and glanced once more at his watch. "My assistant will send you the non-disclosure agreement."

"Hey!" Sakura called after him, half-sitting back on her chair.

Gaara turned back toward her.

"What is it?" he asked, his mouth twisted with impatience, his shoulders tensing up.

She licked her lip, her fists tightening by her sides. _Squared shoulders, straight back, chin up, _Ino's voice blended with her own muttered in her ear_._

"I think that I'll add a STD test as Number five."

She gulped with difficulty, half-petrified.

Gaara briefly turned back toward her, his eyes narrowed. Then, he shrugged, and exited the coffee shop without another word.

Sakura pressed a hand to her mouth and sat back down, giggles raising in her chest.

* * *

The image of the webcam wobbled, then settled showing Tenten sitting in her kitchen. She propped a piece of cookie in her mouth, her eyes narrowed at the screen. She munched slowly, brushing off crumbs from her lips with long fingers in the same absent-minded manner.

"He's hot," Tenten said simply, scrolling down the official pictures of Gaara. "Not hotter than Neji, but still hot."

In her own corner of Sakura's screen, Ino snorted and crossed her legs under her.

"Aww, look at that, Yamanaka is still gracing us with grunts and snorts," Tenten said with fake cheerfulness.

Scowling, Ino pushed her pale hair back in a gesture that was so familiar, Sakura's heart lurched.

She missed home.

She missed her friends.

Sakura smiled wider, her face, her heart aching, as she nodded and nodded. And smiled and smiled. He wasn't her happy ending, but being a doctor was.

"You're way too protective, Ino-pig. It's going to be fine."

She told them the bare minimum about her relationship with Gaara, each clause of the non-disclosure agreement constantly lurking in the back of her mind. She would be fine over a million dollars if she revealed that she wasn't the woman in the pictures.

Sakura had skirted the truth and pretended her shotgun marriage was the result of love at first sight and family pressure for them to tie the knot.

"Are you absolutely sure about this?" Ino asked again, her blue eyes narrowed with suspicion. "What do we know about this guy? Maybe he's a serial killer. And, he's too young to be a sugar daddy."

"You pig!" Sakura shouted, her temper rising. "I told you it's not like that!"

"Well, I still don't get it!" Ino shot back.

The webcam gave her usual intimidating glance a grainy quality. If Ino was here, she would instinctively how Sakura was feeling. She would toss her hair and talk and talk until Sakura cracked. Until Sakura followed what Ino said as she always did. Tenten would hum to herself and pile up ice cream cartons on the table, carelessly handing them spoons, to shut up Ino, and to comfort Sakura.

"There's nothing to get," Sakura grumbled. "He proposed and I said yes."

"Hmmm... In any case, Sakura can take him, right, Pinkie?" Tenten asked, and readjusted free locks of hair with pins. "Just like I showed you. Right hook, left hook, then knee in the balls."

Sakura nodded again, and she moved her computer, so her face would blur momentarily.

"In all seriousness, want a gun?" Tenten asked and reached for another cookie.

"Oh, something like that mini cute one you sent me!" Ino squealed.

"I don't need a gun!" Sakura insisted sharply, and Tenten shrugged, unfazed.

Sakura grimaced rubbing her sweaty hands on her jeans. While Ino was predictable even in her most impulsive moments, Tenten was completely unpredictable. She was goofy and careless, but she called her weapons "darlings" and a part of her life was a complete mystery.

Ino and Sakura would often speculate about Tenten's real job when they called each other at night.

"_Bet s__he's __military, special forces or something_," Ino liked to say.

"_Her following the rules? No way. __You think she has a permit for her 'little darlings'? __S__he's a contract killer __at worst_," Sakura would answer and yawned.

Sakura caught Ino's smirk, and she knew they were thinking about the same thing.

"But, there's still an issue," Tenten added her mouth full, and they snapped their attention back to her. "You don't even know if he's a real ginger." She licked the chocolate off her fingers.

Ino wrinkled her nose, and Sakura laughed, a fake nervous laugh that was high-pitched, deformed by the microphone of her laptop.

"What does that have to do with anything?" Ino frowned.

"Okay, I'll be crass: you haven't seen his dick and whether it's acceptable."

"Tenten," a muffled voice said sharply with a hint of amusement.

"Jesus, Ten," Ino giggled.

"Oh god," Sakura gaped in horror.

Shakily, she passed a hand over her forehead.

"What? Act all puritan if you want, y'all, but I've never seen any of you buy clothes without trying them out first. That includes you, Neji," Tenten yelled, her eyes shifting to a place behind her webcam. "So, you should... you know, try him out first."

"I can't believe you're already married, you clown," Ino huffed and gestured, speaking at Tenten. "She can't just ask him to audition for her husband's position!"

"Yeah, well, I'm not surprised you aren't married. Neji's friends I have introduced you to were boring." Tenten raised her head again looking past them. "Love, do you have any non-boring friends for Ino?"

"I'm not getting involved in this," a man's voice answered. "Tell Sakura congratulations on her engagement."

"Neji said you should definitely find out if he's real a ginger," Tenten turned back toward the webcam and winked, despite her husband protesting in the background. "Hush, love, I'm talking to Suna!" she waved him off.

"Oi, Sakura, does Gaara have a brother?" Ino asked and fluttered her eyelashes at her.

"I'm hanging up!" Sakura shouted as it was their ritual.

"Also, what are you going to do with your hair and that forehead for your wedding?"

"Shut up, Pig!"

"Bye, you guys!" Tenten said serenely. "Neji, gosh, stop frowning. As if dick jokes are beneath me."

Sakura logged off and ran a tired hand in her hair.

In two days, she would be married.

In two days, her debts would be paid off.

Sakura reached across her laptop for her phone. She massaged the back of her neck, leaning back on her chair.

"It'll be alright. I'll become a doctor," she said to herself, with the same firmness Director Sabaku had employed with her.

* * *

The sharp echo of Kin's high heels slowed and thinned as she approached Kankuro. Her fists shook by her sides, then with nonchalance as she closed the distance between them.

Smiling coldly, she crossed her thin arms over her chest.

"What are you doing here?" Kin said imperiously, but her expression was guarded.

Kankuro slowly spun on himself, his eyes drifting across the elaborate moulding spurting out of the fresco. Tall pillars of red marble adorned each corner of the hall of the National Ballet Academy.

He hummed serenely, before he finally looked at her.

Kin carried the stiffness, the grace of her dance in slow gestures and swift changing expressions. She looked younger somehow than the last time he saw her. Her face gleamed, piercing calculating eyes boring through his, the rest of her wobbly despite tight muscles.

She didn't look younger, Kankuro corrected inwardly. She looked terrified. '_Good_,' he thought.

"I'm a big fan of ballet," Kankuro smirked.

"No, you're not. You like dolls," Kin spat, and her voice screeched, breaking off the usual careful melody she spoke with.

Kankuro whistled low.

"Damn, that Orochimaru gave you a file on all of us."

Kin stiffly rubbed her the goosebumps travelling up and down her arms, her face etched in stone. Her heart pounded. She had already given away too much.

No one was protecting her now.

"No matter. If you know that," Kankuro sighed and approached. He added in a conspiratorial voice: "then you know why I don't like you. You're just a pathetic ugly frog."

Her cheek twitched.

Kankuro smiled, the air brisk and tensed between them. He straightened his back and his suit, unfolding slowly into a man that filled the room. He handed her a thick yellow envelope, his expression cold and closed.

"You're going to sign another non-disclosure agreement."

Kin stared at it, but didn't move.

"Why would I do that?" she asked with a mocking tone, but her saliva thickened in her mouth until it was hard for her to swallow. "Clearly, Gaara doesn't want to stay away from me."

She hoped, she hoped that was true. Orochimaru had abandoned her when she had failed to deliver him Gaara's resignation letter from the position of CEO. Gaara had abandoned her, even if she had pleaded: 'What else was she to do?' she had cried out. She was alone, and men had used her all her life.

Kankuro rolled his eyes and opened the envelope himself. He leafed through the document it contained before finding the page marked by a line for her signature.

"Listen to my words carefully, you're going to sign it, for the same reason you signed it before. I know all your dirty secrets."

Kankuro pressed the opened document to her chest and shoved her back a little.

Kin flushed crimson.

"I think you want to avoid a scandal, so you wouldn't blow the whistle on me," she said slowly.

"So, this is where I've experience and you don't," Kankuro whispered, his eyes gleaming with cold ferocity. "The best way to bury a scandal is to reveal another one. Poor naïve Gaara at the clutch of a con woman in the country illegally," he mocked a pout.

"Maybe I love him," Kin titled her chin up in defiance, her teeth clenched.

Kankuro withdrew a pen from his inner suit pocket and held it up to her.

"Signature goes right by the big black X, but you already knew that, yeah?"

Kin watched him carefully, then wildly looked around her at the empty hall. There was no one. With a clenched jaw, she signed quickly after a moment of hesitation.

"Thank you," Kankuro said icily and slid the documents back into the envelope. Without another word, he walked away from her.

"You can bury me in legal threats all you want but he'll come back to me, like he always does," Kin shouted after him with a trembling chin.

Kankuro looked over his shoulder at her, never slowing.

"He's getting married, so I doubt it," he shot back with disinterest and her face shook, unstable, shifting between hatred and alarm.

"See yah never!" Kankuro waved at her vaguely over his shoulder.

He hurried down the steps of the building, whistling, and took the burner phone he had bought earlier out of his pocket.

The sun was already hot on the back of his neck, the sky white above him. With a flick of the wrist, he lowered his sunglasses on his nose.

When Kankuro reached the street, he dialled the number of a random newspaper. He pinched his nose before he spoke into the receiver: "Yeah, I've this huge scoop about Sabaku Gaara's mystery lady... They are married."

He hung up sharply and threw the phone in a garbage can by the street light.

'_Fixed_,' Kankuro thought and grinned.

He was a fixer, a puppet master.

Kin had been right, he had loved playing dolls, but now he played with humans.

* * *

At 4 o'clock sharp, Gaara stood up from his desk and picked up his jacket from the back of his seat. He moved mechanically.

In one hour, he would be married.

His lip curling up, he pulled at his sleeve sharply and readjusted his watch and cuffs. Matsuri, his executive assistant, opened the door, her posture uneasy, her fingers playing with the wires of her headset.

"I've the rings, Gaara-sama."

She offered him the bag with two hands, and the bag shook faintly. Gaara took out the two velvet boxes from the bag before handing it back to her.

Matsuri folded the bag neatly to occupy her hands. She couldn't look directly at him. She wondered anxiously whether she should wish him luck, or merely congratulate him? What was the etiquette for men who lied about the significance of their marriage?

"Hn. I'll meet you directly at the fundraiser," Gaara said coldly, and he strode past her.

"They've called," Matsuri squeaked and grimaced, hurrying after him.

The interns and the employees in the main room scurried to their feet and bowed. Gaara nodded distractedly to them in greeting.

"Who called?" he gestured for her to hurry up, taping his watch.

Her heels clicked quickly as Matsuri tried to catch up with him in the hallway leading to the elevators.

"The Whirlpool foundation," she panted and gulped with difficulty. "They asked whether... whether your wife would be attending. They also sent a wedding gift."

Gaara stopped abruptly, tilting his head, before turning back toward her. Matsuri flushed furiously under his scrutiny.

"Hn. The news is already out then."

"Yes, Gaara-sama. Kankuro-sama called earlier, but you were in a meeting."

He pressed the button of the elevator, his jaw clenched.

'_Gotta feed the dogs, little bro_,' Kankuro had said earlier when he had told him his plan. '_Easy fix._' But everything was easy for Kankuro who understood the ugliest mechanics of humans and pulled at their strings without the faintest regret.

"Tell them no."

"Yes, Gaara-sama. What about the gift?"

Gaara entered the elevator.

"Send it to my house."

"Yes, Gaara-sama." Matsuri quickly bowed her, her hands pressed together at her midsection.

The door slid shut, and he briefly closed his eyes. His hand closed over his watch. He tapped its rhythm.

It didn't make him feel better.

The elevator rumbled as it slowed at the parking level.

He opened his eyes and moved fast again, as if he had never paused.

Gaara unlocked his car and slid behind the wheel. Briefly, he touched his pockets to feel the two boxes in there.

In 48 minutes, he would be married.

He started the car and put on his seat belt.

This was simply another meeting, he told himself, but his heart hammered violently, wildly. He wanted to slow down, loosen his tie. _Breathe. Breathe. Breathe!_

_"Love no one, but yourself. That's what monsters do,"_ his uncle's words whispered back to him.

Gaara accelerated, gritting his teeth, his palms moist around the wheel.

His forehead burned.

The town of sand and gleaming tall building rushed across his window, then thinned when he reached downtown. The buildings were more elegant and lower, whirling sand stopped by the tall buildings surrounding the district. The roads twisted with old stones, but the pavements were mostly devoid of sand.

Gaara turned sharply on the main street, slowing with the traffic. He readjusted his grip on the wheel, forcing his shoulders to relax.

'She would love me,' he told himself.

Even if she didn't, even if she couldn't, she would love him as a wife.

That was all he wanted.

Shikamaru's notary office was near the financial district, in the newest part of town. The traffic became denser as he approached it.

He slowed down, and he alternatively glanced at the clock on the dashboard and his wrist watch. Time passed agonizingly slow.

Gaara scowled as he finally parked near the main entrance. He turned off the ignition and cracked his neck, before exiting the car.

Glancing up at the building, he locked his car. His grandmother had insisted Shikamaru performed the ceremony to preserve the secrecy around his marriage.

Gaara clenched his jaw.

Thinking about Shikamaru inevitably led him to thinking about Temari leaving Suna for Konoha, and his blood to ice.

His sister's place was in Suna, with Kankuro and him.

Gaara walked up the stairs to the main entrance.

Inside, he paced, his eyes narrowed. His shoes screamed on the marble with each step. There had been too many changes recently. He had expected the traffic to be denser at this time of the day.

He was too early.

Gaara turned toward the red door of the staircase. He pushed the door, roughly. It slammed behind him.

The staircase had more echoes, rustling plumbing, voices after carried from the hallways above. Everything was painted beige except the doors.

Gaara ran a hand over his face and unbuttoned his jacket.

"Gaara-sama?"

He froze.

Haltingly, Gaara looked up in the direction of the voice. Sakura leaned over the handrail of the second floor, biting her below lip. Her pink hair was pulled up in a low bun and light make-up softened her features, but she was still wearing her hospital scrub.

"What are you doing here?" Gaara snapped.

Sakura recoiled at his tone, gaping. She shut her mouth quickly, her face stiffening and her eyes narrowed into slits.

Gaara glanced away quickly, his mouth working. He turned his wrist toward him.

In 15 minutes, they would be married.

"Never mind that," he said coldly and walked up the stairs. "Don't be late."

"I won't," Sakura muttered, and she stepped away from the handrail.

When he reached the floor she was on, he paused. She stared at him openly, her cheeks flushed, her body tensed.

Gaara tilted his head inspecting her. Her lips trembled, her fists whitened over a bag of clothes. She wore delicate silver earrings.

"Are you changing here?" he asked slowly.

"No," she said quickly, then tensed and laughed nervously. "Well, yes."

"There's no need for that. I don't have many expectations about your physical appearance."

Her cheek twitched, and she gestured toward her bag of clothes, then toward him.

"Well, you aren't exactly wearing a scrub," she snapped.

He frowned.

"I don't work at a hospital. There's no reason for me to."

Sakura pinched her lips, searching his eyes. Was he joking?

Gaara stepped closer to her.

She gulped, her gaze flickering across his face. His nose had a slight bump, she noted, as if it had been broken several times. When he spoke again, she noticed faint thin scars across his cheeks: "We'll need to make an appearance after the wedding and give a news conference or an interview. We'll see with my publicist."

"What?" Sakura startled, and she realized she had stepped away from him until her hand touched the wall.

It was rough and cool against her palm.

She gulped.

"You signed that contract," Gaara said coldly, watching her closely with his unsettling pale eyes. "You know I need public appearances. I'll adapt to your schedule, but I need this."

Her gaze turned shifty.

He looked past her, up then down the stairs. She was on the second floor, midway between the exit and Shikamaru's office.

Sakura wasn't changing here, Gaara understood. She was going down the stairs. She was escaping.

"If you're not sure, leave now," he whispered, but his voice was gruff and hard.

_'__Love no one,__' _his uncle slurred in his ear._'__No one can love you anyway.__'_

He glanced at his watch. The date changed everyday on the frame. His uncle was dead. He couldn't tell him anything about monsters. About him.

_'Then, why is she pressed against that wall if you _ _aren'_ _t a monster?'_

"I'm not dragging you in that room kicking and screaming," he blinked and stepped away from her. "I'm not that man," he added in a whisper.

Their gaze met.

If he was good with words, he would tell her how terrified he was. Of strangers. Of her. Of being a lousy husband, a terrible father.

Her widened green eyes seemed to beg him for comfort. '_Tell me, we'll be alright. Tell me, we won't regret this._'

Gaara had nothing to offer her.

The crushing silence between them stretched.

"I'm fine," Sakura said finally, and she smiled coldly. "I understand. You need good publicity and I need money."

Gaara nodded stiffly, his shoulders relaxing a little.

He brushed past her.

"Let's go, then."

Sakura turned, following his movement. She expected him to hold up his hand, but he was already walking up the stairs without a glance back.

Quietly, she followed him.

Gaara opened the door on the fourth floor. He held it open for her, without looking at her, his body rigid. Muttering her thanks, she stepped in the hallway. The decor was modern, the lighting soft, with the name of lawyers and notary engraved on polished plates next to each door.

Sakura cleared her throat.

"I need to..." she held up the bag of clothes.

"Bathroom is down the hall," Gaara said stoically and kept walking, his arm with his watch held up. "You've eight minutes."

'_So rude_,' Sakura thought and rolled her eyes. '_It's not like they can begin without me_'.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Comments and kudos are appreciated as always! :D
> 
> Next update will be on October 2nd.


	3. Be Mine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy you guys! I definitely had fun writing this chapter! :D

There was no ceremony, no aisle or flowers.

Her wedding was cold, surgical, the atmosphere oppressive, the notary's office crammed with paperwork.

Gaara and Sakura sat in front of notary Shikamaru Nara as he drawled out the marriage contract, stopping occasionally to yawn. Behind their chairs, Gaara's siblings stood guard with his grandmother and a man who had introduced himself as Kiba Inuzuka.

They towered over her, reducing her to a spectacle.

"Do you, Sakura Haruno, accept to take this man as your lawfully wedded husband?" Shikamaru asked and his eyes gleamed, sharp, contrasting with his slow lingering movements as he pushed the contract in front of her. He held up a pen for her.

_She couldn't do this._

Sakura glanced back at Chiyo-sama, and the old woman nodded stiffly at her, a wan smile on her lips. Sakura hadn't noticed the white flower pinned to her old-fashioned suit before. Under the lighting of the office, her skin appeared waxy.

_She would do this_.

"Yes," Sakura said and her voice crumbled, stumbled over the word.

She took the pen and scribbled her signature at the bottom of the page. She held the pen to Gaara and took it from her with touching her.

"And do you, Gaara Sabaku, accept to take this woman as your lawfully wedded wife?"

Before Shikamaru had finished speaking, Gaara signed, the movements of his wrist stiff and quick.

"You need to answer out loud."

Sakura held up her breath, staring at their signatures side-by-side, horrified and terrified. Out the corner of her eyes, she saw Gaara glanced at his watch.

"Yes," he said simply, his voice strong, but bored.

Her heart thundered. Sakura stared at the contract until their names blurred, and Shikamaru sloppily beckoned Gaara's siblings.

"The witnesses sign here and here."

Temari bent over the desk, one hand on Shikamaru's shoulder as she signed. Kankuro glared over at the hand, clicking his tongue, and signed more quickly than Gaara did.

Sakura barely heard what Shikamaru droned on.

_She was married. Until death did the_ _m_ _ part._

Gaara stood up abruptly. Sakura looked up at him, startled.

"Are we done here?"

"Gaara!" Kankuro hissed, and he swatted the back of his head. "I did _not_ bring champagne for nothing."

"Yes, you did," Gaara replied, unfazed, and glanced at his watch. "I've a fundraiser that starts soon."

Nimbly, he buttoned back his jacket, ignoring his family.

"For crying out loud!" Kankuro swore and turned toward his sister. "Tem... Stop ogling your boyfriend, and stop him."

"The fundraiser is important for his image right now," Temari narrowed her eyes at Kankuro before reaching over the desk to readjust Shikamaru's tie.

"Tema..." Shikamaru smiled and squeezed her hand.

"Could you just be careful about your tie?" she whispered to him, with softening features.

"Holy fuck, isn't this just great?" Kankuro rolled his eyes, and Kiba touched his shoulder, grimacing or holding back his laughter, Sakura couldn't be sure. She watched them, as if she were kilometres away; she couldn't reach them, and they couldn't reach her. "My sister is being groped, and my brother is being a dick."

"Watch your tongue, you punk!" Temari hissed.

"How about he watches his hands?" Kankuro shot back, glowering at Shikamaru. "Do we have to watch this shit?"

"Kankuro-san..." Shikamaru tried soberly, but Kankuro only sneered at him.

"Don't call me that respectful title when you're groping my sister."

"Kank..." Kiba forced a laugh, one hand over his boyfriend's arm.

Sakura flinched, her eyes wildly drifting across the building tension in the room; Kankuro and Temari's flushed faces, Kiba and Shikamaru wincing, shifting from one foot to the other, seemingly used to their arguments.

From the door, Gaara surveyed his siblings, his face expressionless.

"I'm leaving now," he announced coldly.

"You're not leaving before the rings, Gaara!" Chiyo-sama snapped and the siblings flinched at her thundering voice, reacting as one.

They widened their eyes, and Kankuro stepped in front of his boyfriend, throwing out his arm in front of him in reflex, Temari digging her nails in Shikamaru's hand. Something dark shifted Gaara's features, his eyes ferociously gleaming.

Sakura flinched and glanced down at her naked ring finger.

Then, the tension was gone, they moved again, apart, bickering in whispers, as if they had never been frightened.

Gaara approached her again and withdrew a box from his pocket. He opened it and handed her the ring, his face emotionless. It was an elaborate ring made of twisted bands grouped as one and incrusted with diamonds.

Sakura reached for the ring, smiling thinly, and her heart throbbed painfully. She grazed his skin. He tensed and narrowed his eyes.

_Until death did them part._

Shakily, Sakura put on her own ring under his darkening face.

"Let my assistant know if it doesn't fit."

She slowly spun it around her ring finger.

It fitted perfectly.

Gaara walked away without another word, his head bent over his watch.

Sakura held back her tears, already exhausted. She gripped her purse, her arms crossed over herself. She held on herself, full of emotions boiling, swirling, wanting to break free. The back of her throat hurt, her mouth quivered.

She would not cry in front of them.

"Where are you going?"

Temari stepped in front of her, blocking the passage to the door. Sakura recoiled at her boisterous tone.

"I've a shift at the hospital," she replied thinly.

"I'll drive you."

"It's not necessary-" Sakura protested weakly, fumbling for an excuse, anything, that would allow her to break free from her. She met the director's gaze, but she only gave her an apologetic smile.

"I've an appointment in town. I'll see you tomorrow, Sakura," Chiyo brushed by them, and Sakura's shoulders sagged as she watched her slowly walk out of the office, her assistant falling into step with her.

"Maybe Kiba and I should do that? We're just much better company," Kankuro interjected coolly, and again Sakura felt she wasn't really there, a part of this moment. She was the pawn between a tugging war led by Gaara's family. Uneasily, Sakura looked past them, but Gaara and Director Chiyo were already gone.

The siblings bared their teeth at each other, and she stood in the middle of it.

"No, it should be me," Temari said icily and she brushed by Kankuro, gripping Sakura's wrist. "Come on."

Kankuro gave her a small smile, shaking the bottle of champagne.

"Welcome to the family, little sis," he said, and his face grew cold in an instant.

Kankuro roughly dropped the bottle on Shikamaru's desk, startling him. He snarled at him.

"Enjoy, lazy bum."

Temari walked with big strides, her fingers cool and iron around Sakura's wrist. Shocked, she stared at the diamonds gleaming on her finger, as they went down the stairs. Her insides were knotted together. She passed a moist hand on her forehead. Did she truly say 'yes' to a stranger?

They left of the building. Temari released her and waved stiffly, her teal eyes squinting under the sun. Sakura glanced at her, still holding on to her bag, the hot air harsh against her skin.

A car advanced, sleek and dark in front of them.

"I assure you, Temari-san, I can take the bus-"

"Get in," Temari ordered cutting her off, and the chauffeur opened the door for her.

Sakura bit her lip and tapped her foot on the pavement, hesitating.

The chauffeur ran around the car and opened the door for her. She squinted at the end of the street. She didn't know the neighbourhood. She sighed deeply and slid inside the car.

Silently, the chauffeur closed the door after her with a small bow.

Sakura's hands involuntarily caressed the leather of the limousine's interior, her eyes widened. The windows were tinted, protecting them against the harshness of the sun. There was mini-fridge by Temari's legs.

Her elbow resting against her armrest, she inclined her head toward the window, her fingers slowly playing with the thin chain around her neck. Her profile was poised and stoic: a straight nose, high cheeks, a hard mouth. Intimidating. Icily beautiful.

Self-consciously, Sakura brushed back loose strands of her hair out of her eyes.

The engine purred gently, and they moved.

Temari's fingers now tapped on the armrest, her teal eyes narrowed at her, her face pale, stony. Sakura's eyes involuntarily shifted to her engagement ring. Sakura gulped uneasily, opening her mouth, then closing it.

Sakura knew customs normally dictated that older siblings were to marry first.

She forced a smile.

"I wanted to have a little chat with you since you are now family," Sakura's small smile faltered as Temari's face quivered in repressed disdain. "Image is everything for this family. Get a haircut, better clothes, make-up you can't buy at the drugstore or supermarket. Wherever."

"You disapprove of me," Sakura breathed out, and her nails sank into her arms.

Her body shook. She wanted to lie down and poured out her pain, her anger, her fear. She felt weak at the hands of these strangers.

She hated it, this feeling of worthlessness that somehow always seemed to seek her out. Assault her. Take her from granted.

She straightened her back, but it didn't feel enough.

"Your image is unflattering to us, and frankly, I don't care about you," Temari answered brutally. "Gaara insisted on choosing someone who was beneath him, that's his choice, but good taste... It can't be acquired. Fifteen years from now you'll still be the girl from the gutter."

Sakura didn't reply, her mind bleeding, severed pieces afloat. One part of her wanted to scream and bash Temari's head in, the other part, wanted to cower away from her. She wanted to scream herself raw. She wanted to disappear. She knew she was nothing. _She wasn't._ There was no harmony in her mind, only her mantra. Squared shoulders, straight back, chin up. She was fatally wounded, but she was a doctor.

So, she said nothing. Holding in her pain the same way she would have pressed against an open wound: until everything was numb.

Silence stretched.

"I've given Gaara my designer's card. Use it," Temari added coolly.

The car slowed in front of the hospital.

Sakura grabbed the door handle.

"Don't," Temari snapped imperiously. "The chauffeur opens the door."

Without hesitation, Sakura hurled the door open, and she heard Temari cursed under her breath.

She turned her head toward her, her eyes flashing with anger.

"I don't know whether you're just full of hate and spite or if you truly love Gaara-sama that much to be talking to me like that..."

"I don't care what you think," Temari replied coldly.

Sakura slammed the door shut, and brushed past the stunned chauffeur. He hesitated then bowed his head stiffly.

During her shift, Sakura reimagined each aspect of her wedding until her lies were convincing and she could call her friends without her voice breaking.

There were flowers.

Chiyo-sama walked her down the aisle.

Gaara squeezed her hand when he put on her ring.

And her new family was lovely.

They were everything she could have ever hoped for.

This was her happy ending.

* * *

At the end of her shift, Sakura sat on the bench of the staff room, her head in her hands. She was exhausted. Her mind raced, divided, harassing.

She heard her classmates whispered at each other as they combed their hair and changed out of their uniform.

Inwardly, Sakura recited the procedures she performed today, but the details of each one bled on her wedding. She hadn't called her friends yet. She massaged her scalp, her shoulders tensing up. She wondered what she was to do now? She wondered if she needed to call him? Her leg bounced.

Maybe it wouldn't be so bad.

She would go home and shower and have supper, like she usually did. She had a husband, but it was a business transaction.

Nothing had changed.

They only mentioned public appearances. Of course, Gaara would have told her if anything else was expected of her. Of course. Wouldn't he?

Sakura laughed thinly, relieved.

She shook her head and stood up.

Quietly, Sakura changed out of her clothes and wished good night to the night shift staff before running down the road to catch the bus home.

Dust flaked, thick, around her as she kept running, waving agitatedly at the chauffeur. The bus shuddered and finally stopped yards form the bus station. Panting and smiling, Sakura held up her bus pass.

"Thank you," she said and bowed her head to the driver who smiled back.

Sakura sat down near by the window and took out her cellphone. Ino and Tenten had texted her despite the time difference asking for details and photos. Sakura grimaced, wiping the screen of her cellphone, her stomach twisting. She hated that she was lying to them.

Sakura quickly took a picture of her hand and sent it to her friends.

Ino immediately texted back: "That ring is as big as your forehead OMG. You better have fun tonight if he buys you that stuff."

Her phone beeped with Tenten's reply just as Sakura got off the bus near her apartment: Neji is relieved his ring is bigger. *Eggplant emoji*

Sakura giggled and dropped her phone back in her purse.

Absolutely nothing had changed.

She walked up her street, holding her jacket more tightly around herself. She liked that Suna was so different from Konoha: dry and merciless except at night. Once the sun set, Suna shape shifted, no longer harsh and boiling and steaming. The streets grew in activity, flies and mosquitoes buzzing, children playing, young couples walking outside. People lit lanterns over their porch and neighbours pulled chairs to gossip until late at night.

She smiled faintly, tucking her hair behind her ear.

_This was home_.

Sakura unlocked the door of her building and ran up the stairs to the third floor.

Her smile dropped.

She froze.

Her apartment door was ajar.

She stumbled in the hallway, her heart beating at the back of her throat. She gripped her keys in a fist, her body terse. With her foot, she nudged open the door.

Sakura almost dropped her keys.

The apartment was entirely empty, her steps' echo following her, deafening. She barged into each room, her heart sinking, her body bending down. Each room was a punch that knocked the air, the life out of her.

Everything was gone.

She touched the walls repainted in white, all traces of her erased, ready for the next occupant.

"What's going on?" Sakura asked to herself.

"Oh, Sakura-san!" the handy man's voice boomed from behind her, and she spun on her heels, startled. "Why are you back? Did you forget something?"

"Back?" Sakura asked thickly, blinking rapidly.

"Yes, the movers already dropped by. I'm sorry, where are my manners? Congratulations on your wedding!"

Stunned, Sakura felt herself nod at the jolly man. She played with the unfamiliar ring. It was _him_. Her husband had done this. Hot poignant anger flared inside her.

"Yes, I'm married now," she repeated slowly and she wished she could rip off her wedding ring and hurl it away.

She wished she wasn't married, moved like a doll to another house.

"So, did you forget something? Can I help?" the handyman asked eagerly.

"No," she smiled, her face aching, her heart wrenched out of her. Did she even belong to herself now? "I just wanted to look at the place one last time," she added lamely.

Married people lived together. She should have known, but they had organized the visit to the notary around Gaara and her schedule. They had barely talked about the future.

And she had hoped her signature, her standing next to him during some events would be enough. She had hoped nothing would change.

"Of course." The handy man glanced around. "Good evening and congratulations again!"

They bowed, and he disappeared in the hallway, quietly shutting the door behind him.

With shaking fingers, she called Gaara.

"Sabaku Gaara," he answered with a bored voice, the sound of people talking and laughing, and clicking glass in the background.

"What's my address?" she whispered.

If she yelled, she would shatter. She would cry. She was hanging by a thread. His doll. Her wedding, her shift at the hospital had drained her.

She passed a trembling a hand on her face.

"Who's this?"

"Your wife," she whispered loudly, panic gripping her. "Don't you have my number saved up?"

"Hn. I'll text it to you."

Gaara hung up without another word, and she lowered her phone from her ear in disbelief.

She cracked.

She burst into tears, dry-heaving, her hands moving across her body to hold up the pieces of her. She leaked and leaked, slipping through her fingers, through her defence. She couldn't square her shoulders, straighten her back or chin-up.

Her hand shook over her mouth, her other arm digging into her side. They moved to the back her neck, they wiped the tears that wouldn't stop.

She examined her body the way she would for patients at the hospital.

'Where does it hurt?' she would ask.

'Everywhere,' patients would infallibly answer.

* * *

Everything had changed.

She had been stupid.

Sakura took the bus back to the centre of the city, all edges of her raw, her hand tightening around a pole. Her clothes were wrinkled, her hood over her hair.

Now, she heard them, the whispers and excitement.

_Sabaku Gaara was married._

She closes her eyes. They still burnt. All of her still burnt.

Gaara had texted her an address near the old town with precise instructions. She had read over them multiple times, her head heavy, her body drained. He had also sent her an email about their interview on the following day.

Tomorrow, her name and her picture would be released. For now, she was the invisible woman who had kissed Sabaku Gaara. A nameless bride.

Sakura stepped out of the bus, shakily exhaling.

His neighbourhood, unlike hers, didn't have crowded towering apartment buildings. The houses around her were neatly lined up, old-fashioned townhouses meddled with modern mansions. Everything was painted in pale soft colours.

Sakura hurried down the street, glancing over her shoulder. There was no one around her, but foreign whispers and faint giggles still followed her. She clutched her purse to her side.

Her new house didn't feel like home.

It was hidden behind austere high gates and higher dense hedges. Its architecture was modern, sharp simple lines, plunged in darkness.

Sakura chewed on her bottom lip, looking over her shoulders at the calm private neighbourhood. She felt out-of-place with her scrub stuffed in her messenger back, her disheveled hair, and her puffing reddened eyes. Shakily, while holding her phone up, she punched the code he had given her.

The gate buzzed and opened for her.

She breathed in sharply. Squared shoulders, straight back, and chin up, she recited dully to herself.

Once on the porch, she pressed another combination of numbers, and it unlocked with a grave tone.

When she stepped inside, sensor lights illuminated the entrance and kitchen.

A set of slippers waited for her by the door, next to his. New. Nothing like the old ones she had back at her apartment.

With wobbly knees, Sakura removed her shoes. She hesitated, spinning on herself. She opened a grey unit. His work shoes were lined up, their leather shining. There was a few sportswear. She gulped, at the bottom, there were her the two pairs she owned: flats she wore when she went out, and more comfortable shoes for everyday wear.

Sakura gently placed her shoes there.

She knew this was expected of her. He had left just enough room for her, splitting his home, so she would fit perfectly into her place.

Sakura shook her head, pushing back at the thoughts swirling inside her. Wasn't he swallowing her whole, like his family?

She didn't pick her slippers. He threw away hers.

She didn't pick her home. He emptied hers, repainted it. A shift at the hospital later, she was a new woman with a new beginning.

She untied her hair, shaking it loose, massaging her scalp.

There was no turning back.

Sakura stepped into her house.

She dropped her messenger bag to the floor.

The light softly illuminated the pale furniture in a wide open space. The kitchen's domestic appliances gleamed sharply, metallic, while the rest was rough naked wood. She ran her hands across a bookcase, her books mixed with his in alphabetical order.

She explored the kitchen, the dining room and the living room, her hands hesitating before reaching forward and touching her things among his.

Their schedules rest side-by-side on the door of the refrigerator. On the kitchen island, he had fanned out documents for her, a post-it on each pile detailing procedures and listing phone numbers. Forms to change her address. Forms to apply for citizenship. His sister's designer's card. A car catalogue with the post-it, "which one?" placed on top of it. An appointment at the bank.

And a check. The only thing she cared about.

Her fingers hovered above the check he had made to her school.

She tore herself from the black granite counter, looking around her. A gilded cage.

The house was impersonal; there were no accent or decoration, no picture frame, no warmth to the house. The furniture was to its bare minimum.

Sakura climbed up the stairs, her hand whitening and gripping the handrail.

The master's bedroom was painted in light grey and white like the rest of the house.

She found her way on the balcony, then in the walk-in closet.

Her side of the closet was almost empty, her few things fitting into only a fraction of the space. She imagined filling it, shopping, careless about money for once. Her stomach twisted. Again, it felt like this was expected of her; fill the space and mirror his side full of designer clothes in various shades.

Her eyes drifted across the bed, her head pounding with her quickening heartbeat.

The finality of her wedding damned on her: they would share a bed. They would build a family together. Until death did them part.

But wasn't this a dream come true?

A beautiful home, her tuition already paid off, her future secured. Shouldn't she be grateful?

Without knowing her name, the news outlet had already painted her life as a fairytale: Gaara Sabaku was one of the richest man in the Land of the Wind. Wasn't she lucky? Shouldn't they all be envious?

Sakura turned right on the hallway nothing the two bathrooms, before pushing open the door to his study. Unlike the rest of the house, his study was shrouded in shadows, painted in dark red, the desk old, pile of paper perfectly arranged on top of it.

She quietly closed the door and pushed opened the last room of the floor.

It was her own study, and she saw it more clearly now, how he had selected some of her things and disregarded the rest. She balled her fists, her anger, her sadness battling inside her. Her desk was brand-new, her old beat-up second-hand furniture gone. He had picked a desk of cherry wood and a chair that matched: modern and of the same wood.

A part of her flinched, craving this sense of belonging.

The other part of her demanded violent retaliation.

She was grateful.

She was going to kill him.

* * *

It was late at night when Gaara returned home.

"Hn. Did you read through the email I sent you?" he said after he put on his slippers.

She glared up at him.

"Never mind that. I want my desk back." Sakura said icily at him and he stepped in the kitchen.

Her hair still damp from her shower dripped down her neck, as she bent over her textbook. Impatiently, she tapped on the book, sensing him approach her.

"My assistant will meet you here at 3 to go over the interview questions," Gaara said, ignoring her. "Don't be late."

He took a water bottle out of the refrigerator. He leaned against the counter watching her with curiosity, his tie untied around his neck. He took a sip.

"I want my desk back," she repeated through clenched teeth and roughly highlighted a sentence on the importance of eye movement examination during neurological assessment. "I want all of my things back. You had no right going through my stuff."

"No right? Isn't this what you wanted?" Gaara asked quietly, and a shadow she couldn't understand lurked in his pale eyes. "Money," he said flatly, brutally. "Functional things. I had planned to bring all of your stuff here, but half of it was garbage. You lived like a pig, Sakura."

She gaped at him.

"Excuse me?" she stammered.

"You're welcome."

Sakura pushed back the chair from the kitchen island and it grated against the floor. She glared at him.

"Are you unintentionally dense or just very rude?" she shouted and gestured around her. "This _isn't _what I wanted. I just wanted to be a doctor!"

Gaara raised an eyebrow in surprise at her, his mouth pressed to the bottle, but he didn't drink. He lowered back his arm, his head cocked to the side as if he was seeing her for the first time.

"Did you think it would simply fall into your laps... becoming a doctor?"

Her jaw twitched, and she held his gaze, her heart deafening, reaching up to the back of her throat.

"You didn't need to do this."

He shrugged.

"I've been told I'm rude."

'_Your image is unflattering to us,_' Temari's voice filled her head along his. Was this the price of belonging, she wondered taking a step back from him, her insides gripped into a frozen, unbreakable fist.

She would be reinvented to fit in someone else's story, was that her future? Was that how ruthless women lived?

Sakura looked around her, at the pristine kitchen, the dining room opening on the living room, beige, fitting together.

A fairytale, Sakura had thought before considering her house. Now, she knew, she wasn't Cinderella. Cinderella had loved her prince, she hadn't taken her vows to escape her circumstances. No, she was the last of a Russian doll set. And they would make her fit inside, swallowed, adjusted to their world.

She balled her fists.

"I didn't ask for upgrades," Sakura added through clenched teeth.

Gaara shrugged, noncommittal, and put back the water bottle in the refrigerator.

"They are just things," he said as he brushed by her. "I'm sure it won't take long before you ruin those too. Matsuri told me your chair didn't even have all its wheels."

Gaara settled his bow tie on the couch and unbuttoned his collar.

"About the interview-"

"It's our house, _honey,_" Sakura interrupted him, her voice rising, and he looked back at her with an eyebrow raised, his head cocked to the side."Ours. As in there should be your stuff and mine, and it should coexist."

"Hn. Fine, buy whatever pleases you," Gaara took out his wallet from the inner pocket of his suit jacket and took out his credit card.

He handed it to her.

Sakura looked at the card, feeling dismissed, small, belonging in the cracks of his life. He sighed and pressed it to her hands when she didn't react.

"Now, Are we done here?" Gaara pointed at the credit card she was still holding, and the back of her throat hurt from the tears she refused to let fall. "I'm going to shower."

Sakura followed him mechanically. Lips pinched, he looked back at her as he started climbing up the stairs.

She didn't move.

"Just use the contact pay option," Gaara added slowly.

"Do we really need to share the bedroom?" she asked.

Her face crumpled, but his eyes were on his watch, his hand on the handrail.

"I'm an insomniac. I rarely sleep, so I won't disturb you. But we've one shower, so I need to go up now."

Gaara stared at her expectantly, his eyebrows knitted together. They didn't understand each other. Now, he was careful, holding himself back, while her thoughts raced unpleasantly over things she wished she could say to him: Jerk, freak.

She touched her wedding ring, and looked at his. She hadn't noticed it before.

"Fine," she said flatly.

"Don't sleep too late. That interview is important to me."

"Yes, Gaara-sama."

"So, we're-"

"Yes, yes, we're done," Sakura snapped.

She spun on her heels, his card still in her grip. What had she expected? She chastised herself. She threw the card on the counter, tears of frustration brimming her eyes. She pressed a hand to her mouth. It hurt. The back of her throat. The back of her eyes.

It hurt.

'_What have I done?_'

She thought of his disdainful eyes flickering across her face.

Temari had been right. She had been picked for their image. Her story would only be a fairytale in appearance.

Tomorrow, she would smile at the world, stand by his side, and say she loved him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter will be posted on November 6th. I've exams and other stuff coming up, so I won't have as much time to write this story. If you have any questions about my updating schedule, feel free to DM through tumblr (clem-chan).
> 
> On Temari and Sakura's relationship: They'll become close, no worries. In all of headcannons regarding Temari, friendship is not something that occurs quickly. She's more the type of person you meet, hate, then grows on you.
> 
> Thank you for reading! Comments and kudos are always very much appreciated! ^_^


	4. Act Soft

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy, y'all! :D

Later during the night, Gaara paced in the living room, the acidic way she had called him 'honey' haunting him.

She wasn't happy.

Gaara thought it would be easy, a fair exchange: companionship in exchange for his fortune and social status. But she was dissatisfied. She had left his credit card on the counter. She had slammed doors and disappeared in the bedroom without another word, her lips pinched, her lips twisted in a scowl.

He frowned, running a hand through his hair.

He rubbed at the back of his neck.

He hesitated.

Then, Gaara scribbled a note next to the card: "Get what you want."

He paced again, faster, his hands deep in his pockets.

In the business world, in his world, humans were simple. They were needy. They didn't love things; they simply needed, craved things they didn't have. Things their neighbours had. Things perfect strangers had flaunted online. There was always a need to fill with this or that product. Otherwise, money fixed everything.

Why hadn't it fixed them?

Gaara rubbed at the tension building up in his neck, still pacing.

He couldn't understand what she wanted from him.

He scowled.

Gaara abruptly turned toward the couch and reached for his cellphone. He quickly dialled Kankuro's number.

"_Wut?_" Kankuro said groggily into the phone after the fifth ring.

"You didn't choose right," Gaara said agitated, and he glanced up at the staircase plunged in darkness.

He heard Kankuro growl and shift into a sitting position. Kankuro muttered something to Kiba. Then, a door closed.

"_Remember when __you were a small annoying kid, and I would__ tell you I __can__ exchange you __for a decent little bro __at the nearest supermarket?_" Kankuro hissed.

Gaara opened his mouth, and glanced at his watch. 3:40 am.

"It's late."

"_Yeah_," his brother growled. "_But w__hat the hell do you mean I didn't choose right?_"

"She's upset about the things you picked out."

"_First of all, your assistant picked everything. I don't know women, at all. Second of all, she should still be grateful,_" Kankuro sucked in a breath, and laughed with an irony that escaped Gaara. "_Tell her I__'ll__ exchange her at the nearest supermarket._"

"No," Gaara frowned. "She just seems to think her old stuff was better."

"_Oh fuck, __she had stuff? And you threw it away?_"

"I just said that, yes," Gaara replied coldly.

He glanced toward the card still on the counter.

_"__I can't explain this to you right now,_" Kankuro grunted and Gaara winced.

"I can call you back between meetings... At 10h15?"

"_Gaara..._"

"Don't say my name like that."

'Like I'm not human,' Gaara added silently. He clenched his jaw.

Temari had Shikamaru.

Kankuro had Kiba.

He simply wanted to feel needed too.

Gaara closed his eyes, his fingers massaging the tattoo on his forehead. Why wasn't love simple? Wasn't it what his siblings had told him: love was simple. Love would find a way.

His face darkened, twitching, twisting, and he opened his mouth to snap, but Kankuro sighed. He stilled, his heart throbbing.

Of course, he did something wrong. He wasn't human.

"_J__ust apologize, and get her stuff back. __And next time, for Pete's sakes, don't just tell me: 'she needs new stuff.' Share the whole story, like that she _already _has stuff._ _Hold on._" Gaara waited, breathing hard, as his brother's muffled voice said something and Kiba answered him. "_Kiba wants to have supper with you two. Pick a day. Now, I'm going __back __to sleep __be__fore__ my boyfriend exchanges me __at the nearest supermarket__. __Night, little bro._"

Kankuro hung up.

Gaara didn't sleep. He never did. He lied down on the couch, a business book open on his chest. He stared at the ceiling, his arm draped carelessly over his forehead, his other hand on the spine of the book. He thought of her green eyes flashing with anger. She was a different woman from the one who had meekly bowed to him at the coffee shop.

Were people really like that, Gaara wondered, full of contradictions and conflicting emotions?

Grunting, he rubbed at his temples.

His mind drifted, roamed, but he didn't sleep.

Monsters didn't sleep.

* * *

Sakura couldn't sleep.

She turned restlessly in the bed. It smelled inhabited, faint floral detergent clinging to her. The dark grey bed sheets rubbed still crisp against her skin.

Irritated, she sat up huffing, muttering to herself: "What a jerk!" Turning her head toward the door, she bit her lip. Instinctively, she held up the bed sheets to her chest. She wore a simple pink pyjamas, but she felt exposed. In a stranger's home. In a stranger's bed.

'_What if he came up?_' she thought and shuddered.

Sakura turned her head toward the rest of the room, wondering if she should put one of the chairs from the walk-in closet against the knob.

Sakura fumbled with the sheets and got off the bed, shaking her head. She was being paranoid. He said he wouldn't come up. He said he wouldn't disturb her.

Her stomach churned.

The darkness was grey, the street lights filtered out by spaced out blinds and the space under the door.

Skin flushed, Sakura advanced slowly her fingers outstretched toward the doorknob. She listened intensely. She could hear him moving downstairs, her heart pounding violently against her rib cage. .

"_You didn't choose right_," Gaara said agitated.

Sakura froze, her hand on the knob. The metal was cool and she shuddered.

She shouldn't listen in. She truly shouldn't, but curiosity gripped her. Silently, she turned the knob. She blushed, embarrassed, her heart still pounding, and she thought of jealous nosy wives that did the same.

'Haruno Sakura, you're a foolish girl,' her mind shouted.

His voice now reached her more easily, low and grave. Her heart skipped a beat. She licked her dry lips.

"_No, __s__he just seems to think her old stuff was better._"

Sakura faltered, her eyes shifting involuntarily to her wedding ring. He sounded like a child. Then, an insidious thought whispered at her; what if he was talking to the woman in the picture?

There _was_ someone else. He had kissed this woman and married Sakura to prevent a scandal.

She was simply a means to an end.

Sakura quickly closed the door, her face stiffening and she chewed on her bottom lip. Her heart still pounded, heavy, sinking, sinuous, in her chest. She wondered what kind of woman was considered lesser than a penniless orphan.

She climbed back into bed.

His.

His bed.

She was his, but her husband belonged to another woman.

A dark-haired beauty, Sakura decided, drifting to sleep, her eyelids fluttering. It had to be a beautiful dark-haired woman with a troubled past. A woman, he grew soft for. A woman, he couldn't ignore. A woman that made him forget his watch, his schedule, his work...

She dreamed of a wedding that wasn't hers.

* * *

The next morning, Sakura ate her breakfast in silence, her lips pursued, barely chewing the steamy rice pudding.

Gaara had served her in silence, his green eyes searching hers. Sakura refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing clearly her puffy eyes, her pale face, and how everything about him ravaged her. Ever since she had put his ring on, he had torn pieces of her, a roaming scavenger that mercilessly picked at the bones.

"Do you have class or are you at the hospital today?" Gaara asked, and he crossed his arms over his chest, still watching her. He already wore his suit, his red tie still loose around his neck.

He didn't eat.

The back of her neck prickled. She was certain he wasn't used to waiting. His face hardened, his eyes flashed, his posture stiffening as his gaze grew intense and demanding.

Sakura ignored him. She munched slowly, and his eyebrow twitched.

"You put my schedule on the fridge. You could look at it," Sakura said finally with a flippant tone.

His silence, his eyes unnerved her.

"Hn."

Gaara glanced out of the window, his muscled forearms jerking, still crossed over him.

"Yesterday, you arrived later than scheduled. I hope it doesn't happen today."

Annoyed, Sakura glared up at him, but his face was expressionless, unfocused, still turned toward the bay windows. She pinched her lips and bent over her bowl again. The texture of the rice was perfect, the pieces of sour mangoes folded onto it more fragrant than she had hoped.

She was most definitely not going to compliment his cooking.

"I won't be late for the interview," she bit out.

"My brother and his partner," Gaara narrowed his eyes at the garden, as if she hadn't spoken at all. "They want to have supper with us."

Sakura pushed her bowl away from her, and reached for her napkin. She wiped her mouth, and he furrowed his eyebrows.

"What works best for you?" he added slowly.

"Shouldn't we be meeting the elders of your family first? Isn't that what your traditions require? Elders first, then the youngest?"

"Hn."

Sakura sighed, smiling bitterly, and stood up.

"Thanks for making breakfast," she said flatly.

His head turned back toward her, his pale eyes following her as she left the kitchen.

"Put the bowl away," he said without turning.

"I'm going to be late, but sure, you should clean up," Sakura shrugged. "It's _your_ stuff afterward."

Gaara stood up too, swiftly, and she walked faster toward the entrance. Maybe she went too far?

Her hands grew cold.

He followed her, a glowering presence. She bent down to put on her shoes, avoiding the sharp edges of his face.

Gaara leaned on the doorframe, his arms crossed over his chest, solid, his eyes on his watch.

"How about Saturday we visit obaasan. Can you cook? The bride should bring sweets to elders."

"Yes, I can cook," Sakura said distractedly and reached for her shoes. "Saturday is fine."

"What about my sister and her partner? I suppose, Temari would expect us to visit... She's the eldest," his jaw twitched, he held back his snarl. "Then, supper with Kankuro."

Sakura grimaced, occupying her hands with her messenger back. She had forgotten visiting Temari would also be required.

"Next week, you have Wednesday and Friday evening of free. Does it work?"

'Never also works,' she added silently, but nodded nonetheless.

"Good," Gaara replied, nodding to himself, and turned away from her.

He reached in his pocket for his phone.

Sakura gritted her teeth, exhausted from his proximity. She looked at the space he had occupied, her insides twisted, sore. What had she expected? A goodbye kiss?

She heard the sound of clicking dishes as he cleaned up the kitchen table.

"Bye, honey!" Sakura shouted, and she slammed the door after her.

She puffed in the already hot air of the city.

"Jerk."

* * *

Gaara hated the board of directors' meetings.

They were inefficient, dragged out by veiled bickering and insults, feigned alliances and rivalries. Politics.

He shifted in his seat, barely listening to soft sounds of executive assistant typing and Director Oh's drone voice.

Temari used to take care of those meetings.

His mouth twitched at the thought of his sister. His sister in Konoha. Living there.

Gaara bared his teeth.

Director Oh's voice faded, gutted.

Gaara turned the page of the document in front of him alongside the others.

Director Oh coughed, drank some water and spoke again.

_Temari in Konoha and never coming back_.

Gaara glanced at his watch and readjusted his tie.

The conference room suddenly felt too crowded, the directors sitting around the conference table in a tight rectangle of bobbing heads and rummaging papers. Interns took hurried notes behind them, shifting their weight from one foot to the other, to keep awake or their legs going numb.

He blinked. Were they always this many people in the meeting?

Gaara detached his chin from his laced fingers. His hands were ice-cold.

He focused on the numbers, on the time, on his watch. His fingers rubbed the tattoo on his forehead, and he was terrified the anger would coil, swirling around him tighter and tighter.

There was this meeting, then another one, then the interview. There should be no room for anger. No room for thoughts of his sister.

In 19 minutes, he would be able to dismiss them. It always took them four to five minutes to gather their things. They shook hands, exchanged pleasantries.

In fifteen minutes, Gaara would go down to the twelfth floor and meet with the executives from the main factory.

In one hour and 19 minutes, he would drive home.

Gaara glanced down at the leather file folder in front of him.

"And this is why we should sell the newly acquired division," Director Oh finished.

Gaara froze.

"Gaara-sama," one of the director said and coughed. An intentional disturbance. The other directors turned their stares to him, fingers pushing back the business plan. An orchestrated plan.

They squirmed under his stare. He leafed through the document in front of him. There was nothing about the new division. The silence was deafening as he kept turning pages and pages. Finally, he slapped the leather folder and pushed himself back from the table.

"We were supposed to discuss opening a new market in the Whirlpool country," Gaara said icily.

He hated when they changed the order of the meeting, shifting his schedule around like it belonged to them. Like he didn't need the numbers, the order to stay focused.

His sister was leaving.

Kin was clutching to him.

And Sakura... He didn't know what to make of her.

There were already enough things changing.

Director Oh coughed again, his hand in a shaky fist pressed against his mouth.

"Maybe, you should bring your wife to the next fundraiser. Investors from the Fire country will be there. It'll be good for future relations... She was born there, yes?"

"Hn. Can we return to the schedule?" Gaara said tonelessly.

He lowered his hands to the table, tapping the rhythm of time with one index. 13 more minutes, and he would get up.

"You should dismantle the new company you acquired," Director Orochimaru hissed. "It's a dead weight."

Gaara felt the familiar anger boiled and lashed out inside him. He straightened his back, leaning back on his leather chair. The directors pressed their lips together, a joined front.

"My wife won't come to the fundraiser if you keep pretending we can't save this company."

"Gaara-sama!" one of the directors exclaimed, and the others blinked rapidly staring at each other, nudging at each other.

"She'll be too busy with being newly poor," Gaara said flatly, and he knocked on the table sharply. "Are we going to talk about the new market now?"

"There're times you do business like your father, Gaara-sama," Director Orochimaru said with a smirk, and an elongated feminine hand pushed back his lustrous hair.

A ferocious amusement glinted in his narrowed eyes.

He was a snake.

Gaara knew Director Orochimaru coveted his seat. He was patient. He was deceitful. He had briefly occupied the CEO's chair after Gaara's father had died. He had let the siblings play in his office, musing out loud about their father's disgrace until none of them could smile.

They glared at each other.

They would always fight for the chair, the title, and the power that would make one and defeat the other.

"There are times I wish I was my father," Gaara said coldly, but he inwardly recoiled at the thought.

Director Orochimaru tilted his head, his smile voracious, and his eyes gleamed.

"The fundraiser is in two weeks," Director Oh squeaked, his hand on his tie.

Elegantly, Director Orochimaru shrugged, still smiling.

"If you would excuse me, I have another meeting," Gaara snapped the leather file folder shut, and stood up.

He was in advance, but he didn't care.

Reluctantly, the other directors stood up too, buttoning back their suit jacket with stiff hands, and displeased frown. They shook their heads, avoiding looking at each other. They would plot, Gaara knew. Director Orochimaru was still sitting, his assistant fervently staring at him.

"How did you grow so soft," Director Orochimaru asked softly. "A woman, perhaps?"

"It's a long way down my office," Gaara said dully, and he pointed at the exit. "That way is slower, but safer."

"Gaara-sama..." The other directors bowed their heads, and exited the room.

Gradually, Director Orochimaru got to his feet. His assistant hurried to give him his cane, his arm draped over his shoulder protectively. He barely seemed to notice, stepping toward Gaara.

"It'd be a long way down your office for you too, Gaara-sama," he sing-sang as he brushed by him. "Enjoy married life, even if we both know who you truly miss..."

The door closed softly behind him.

Still glaring at the door, Gaara readjusted his suit jacket, turning his cufflink back in place, perfectly symmetrical.

Slowly, he turned to his executive assistant.

Matsuri scurried to her feet, her mouth agape, her computer and some loose papers pressed against her chest. She bowed stiffly, her face red.

He began walking, and she followed him as quickly as she could.

"Call my wife and remind her about the interview."

"Yes, Gaara-sama," she panted and tried to twist her forearm to reach for her pen to scribble a note on her notepad.

She gripped her computer before it could slip off her arms.

"I'll meet with Baki and the others. I want you to head to my house and prep her," Gaara kept talking without slowing.

Matsuri bit her bottom lip, anxiety creasing her eyebrows.

"Yes, Gaara-sama," she said quietly.

"What is it?"

She pushed back her shoulders just as he had told her. His pale eyes were already on her when she finally looked up.

"I tried contacting the moving company like you asked, but her things..." she tried to keep her voice even, but it wobbled, almost extinguished. "They are gone, Gaara-sama."

He stared at her for a moment longer before he kept walking.

"Hn. Don't worry about it," he said and straightened his tie.

"But-"

"Don't worry. I'll take care of it," he said tensely and Matsuri sighed falling behind him.

* * *

Chiyo felt like her entire body was on fire. Flashes of irritation had plagued her all morning. It felt like ants were walking under her skin, crawling in her skull. Ants or needles, she couldn't decide. Weakly, she waved her thoughts away with her moist palms.

Chiyo knew all the side effects of chemotherapy, and yet... Yet, she had thought foolishly like any doctor that she would beat the odds. That it would be different, for her.

Briskly, she reached for the intercom and buzzed Nozomi, her assistant.

"Is she here?" Chiyo clicked her tongue.

"Yes, Chiyo-sama, she just arrived."

"Send her in, now."

Chiyo dropped back in her chair, exhausted.

A moment later, the door of her office opened and Sakura bowed in front of her. Nozomi softly closed the door behind her, her worried gaze holding Chiyo's stare.

"How are you, Chiyo-sama?" Sakura asked, and her voice wobbled with nervousness. She wanted to feign happiness, but her hands twitched in one another.

She should straighten her back, be proud, unshakeable. For once, she was the lucky one. She was the woman with everything. She stared at her hands, her fingers finding the unfamiliar ring.

"Never mind that," Chiyo snapped, and shrugged. "I'm an old hag. Sit down and tell me you aren't pregnant with my great-grand child."

Sakura blushed and carefully sat down on one of the sofas.

Chiyo laughed like a hyena.

Sakura's shoulders tensed with the laughter. She opened her mouth to say something, anything, but Chiyo waved her off, her laughter receding.

"It'll come. Gaara is difficult, but he has a good heart. He'll give you anything you ask for."

Sakura smiled politely.

"I didn't call you in to discuss him though," Chiyo breathed in tentatively, but the tightness in her chest didn't loosen, and her mouth still felt cotton, dry, her tongue heavy. "I want to give you private lessons. Case studies."

Sakura flushed, blinking rapidly. She straightened her back, her eyes gleaming with pride, but a frown crept it.

"I don't think it would be fair to the other students," she said carefully.

"Half of those students will take over their parents' practice. Do you think that's fair?"

Sakura looked down at her hands again. She almost said it then: "I don't want anything to change." But if that were true, she wouldn't have married Gaara in the first place.

"Tell me you'll be honoured," Chiyo said roughly, a glint of amusement in her dark eyes, "so we can go on with our days."

Sakura's lips curled up in a small smile.

"I'm scared of what they'll think. Tomorrow... Tomorrow, they will know that I married Gaara-sama."

"Who cares?" Chiyo snorted.

"I do," Sakura said quickly and her eyes widened at the eagerness of the words. "I've come in on my own... But tomorrow, this won't matter."

"Sakura," Chiyo sighed and drummed her fingers on her desk. "Things will get tough, but if you had hesitation-"

"I don't," Sakura said. "Gaara-sama was kind enough to tell me how things would be. But I'm still scared."

"It's okay to be scared," Chiyo said softly.

"Thank you for the extra-lessons, but-"

"No, but!" Chiyo cried out and cackled. "Indulge your grandmother."

Sakura startled. Then, she softened and bowed her head.

"Thank you, Chiyo-sama."

"Are you deaf, girl!" Chiyo cried out. "Call me obaasan. Now, come back tomorrow at the same time, and we will discuss a cancer case."

"Thank you, obaasan."

She stood up, sensing the dismissal.

"Sakura..."

"Yes?"

Chiyo hesitated. Sakura looked too eager, like she used to do. She almost grunted. She had forgotten how she used to be naïve and young. '_Sentimentality_,' she thought bitterly. '_As if I have time for sentimentality._'

Chiyo laced her fingers together, projecting the image of the business woman. 'I'll look strong while I still can,' she couldn't help but think.

"Whatever we discuss here... It needs to remain here."

Sakura frowned.

"I'm aware of patient-confidentiality guidelines."

"Indulge an old woman and swear it."

'Indulge an old selfish woman,' Chiyo thought.

Sakura looked taken-back, but her smile returned to her lips.

"I promise, obaasan."

* * *

In the beginning of the afternoon, Sakura froze, her step kicking at a gravel as she saw the mousey haired woman sitting in the steps leading to her house.

The grid closed softly behind her.

She didn't move.

The girl was younger than her, dressed in a wrinkled suit, as slumped on herself as she stared at her phone, her eyes fluttering shut.

"May I help you?" Sakura said stiffly.

The young woman shot to her feet and dropped her phone in her purse. She bowed deeply. She stared at Sakura, her mouth parted, her dark eyes widened. She bowed again.

"My name is Matsuri, Sakura-sama. Nice to meet you!" she cried out quickly. "I'm Gaara-sama's executive assistant. He sent me to take care of you before he arrived," she rambled.

Sakura blinked and smiled politely.

"Matsuri-chan," she gave her a quick bow. "Nice to meet you too. I got your message, there truly was no need to come all the way here."

Sakura brushed past her and unlocked the door for them.

"I have lists for you," Matsuri panted behind her and held up her purse and her other bags to her chest. She hurried after her.

She spoke to loudly, too quickly, her nervousness persistent.

"Lists?" Sakura grimaced.

She kicked off her shoes.

When Matsuri didn't follow her, she turned back. Matsuri was staring, her mouth agape at her shoes.

"What is it?" Sakura asked, suddenly feeling self-conscious.

"I think... I think I should place your shoes on the rack. Gaara-sama-"

"Never mind that," Sakura said roughly, her temper rising at the thought of Gaara's obsession with order. She gestured for Matsuri to enter the house.

Uncomfortably, the young girl sat down. Her grey suit was still wrinkled, faint lines of perspiration under her arm pits. She seemed like she was always on the run. She looked so young, Sakura thought, and she softened.

"Are you sure, I shouldn't tidy up?" Matsuri whispered, her eyes wild and terrified.

Sakura shook her head and held up her hand.

"Gaara-sama does his own tidy up," she said lightly.

Matsuri smiled, unconvinced, and rushed to take out a thick file. She evened out the pieces of paper. She handed it to Sakura with both hands, bowing meekly.

"Please read through it before the interview, Sakura-sama."

Sakura weighed the file in her hands, her lips in a hardening line.

"There are lists for what to say, some..." Matsuri blushed. "Fact-altering, I suppose, it's called. Please, read through those. We can then discuss the rest."

"What rest?"

Matsuri blinked.

"Make-up and clothes."

* * *

Two hours later, Sakura was pressed against Gaara on the couch. Someone had plaited her hair and someone else had done her make-up. And she felt like someone else. She was wearing clothes that made her look like a wife from the 1950s. Pristine and pressed and quietly beautiful.

It was a farce.

"Tell us how you met."

"Next question," Gaara said gruffly.

Sakura briefly closed her eyes, a nervous giggle rising in her chest. And he had thought she needed a list of what not to say?

"Gaara-sama..." the reporter said with a biting smile. She had leaned over her laps in a predatory stance, her brown lustrous hair flipped back over her shoulder.

"Our viewers would truly like to know how your status changed from more sought after bachelor to one of husband. The transition was quick," she smiled again, and Sakura held her breath.

"She's a student at the General hospital," Gaara replied flatly. "My grandmother is the head of that hospital. I'm sure you can add two plus two without us telling you an elaborate story."

Sakura laughed nervously, high-pitched and skewed.

The reporter's eyes darted to her, hungry, and her smile clipped.

"You find your husband endearing, Sakura-sama?"

"Yes," Sakura smiled. "When we met, he didn't even use a suffix for my name, can you imagine? I think it was love at sight, and he just forgot basic polite behaviour."

She slapped his thigh.

He turned a clouded stare to her.

"Now, he calls me Sakura-chan," Sakura added sweetly forcing a bright smile.

Gaara squeezed her hand still on his knee. He tried to peel off her hand off it, but her grip tightened in a vicious hold. He cleared his throat and shifted. Shrugging and still grinning, Sakura raised up their joined hands at the reporters who chuckled, beaming.

"What a beautiful story, Sakura-sama."

"Yes, I think so too," she replied coyly.

The reporter gave her a patient smile, her pen beating softly against her notepad.

"How long have you been dating before he proposed?"

Sakura giggled, her palms prickling, still gripping his hand. Matsuri had given her a preset of answers, but she couldn't focus. She turned her head toward Gaara.

He watched her, his lips in a hard line. This close to him, she could see the faint pale scars on his face, the crook of his nose where it had been broken. She could feel it lurking in his darkening eyes, flashes of violence.

But he let her hold her hand, not struggling against her. Emotionless. Distracted.

"Well, Gaara-kun," Sakura giggled again, feeling silly and used. "This is a question for you. You're in charge of remembering our date."

"You mean, my assistant is," he said slowly for her benefit she knew.

But she didn't care.

Sakura forced a laugh, ignoring the pulse she could feel from his hand, his warmth, and the absence of pressure. No reaction.

"He's just so funny once you get to know him," Sakura said in mocked confidence to the reporter.

She only smiled politely in return and noted something down quickly.

"Your ring is one of a kind from Designers Deidara & Sasori," she gestured toward her wedding ring, and Sakura's fingers curled back instinctively. "Why did you pick it, Gaara-sama?"

"The pink hair," Gaara said flatly.

"Excuse me?" The reporter prompted, but her mouth trembled with impatience, her smile never reaching her eyes.

"One of a kind," Gaara said in his monotone voice. "She's one of a kind."

Sakura blushed, startled, and her hand slacked around his. Finally, the reporter sat back satisfied and waved forward her photographer.

"Could we please take a photo of you two as newlyweds?" she asked.

They turned their faces toward one another. Sakura expected a smirk, but Gaara's face revealed nothing. She still searched it, and she only stopped on the tattoo peeking through strands of unruly hair. Her fingers twitched. _Love_.

She held her breath, a wild thought forming in her head. She wanted to touch it.

"Oh wow, yes, hold still," the photographer said and Sakura broke out of her reverie, blushing furiously. "You've such great chemistry. That's it!"

His flash snapped again.

Sakura smiled without her teeth, trying to lean back comfortably against the couch, now avoiding looking at him. What was wrong with her? This was a spectacle, a long con, there would be no touching, no love.

She let him go.

Her fingers curled into fists over her thighs.

"A kiss would be great now," the photographer said.

Sakura froze. Blindly, her hand found his again in a vicious grip.

Gaara shifted in his seat, and he glanced at her, annoyed. She squeezed him hard. 'Fix this,' she mouthed.

"She's shy," Gaara said uncomfortably through clenched teeth.

He breathed sharply when she released his hand a bit.

"I really am," Sakura said with a wide smile.

"She didn't look so shy in that picture we published. Maybe we should do a reenactment outside."

"Excuse me?" Sakura snapped about to raise to her feet.

Gaara held her back, his hand circling her wrist.

She narrowed her eyes at him.

"Apologize," Gaara said darkly, his eyes on the crew member who had spoken. "Now."

He didn't raise his voice, but there was an abrupt tension in the room. Sakura's eyes widened at the anger lurking his features, his mouth, his eyebrows twitching. His scars were pronounced now.

She patted his hand limply, her stomach at the back of her throat. Was that truly her uncaring husband?

He ignored her, his glare still on the crew member.

"I apologize," the man said meekly and bowed stiffly.

"Not to me," Gaara said and his tone didn't change. "To her. You insulted her."

Sakura turned back away from him, her other hand stilling over his.

The man blanched and bowed to her.

"I apologize, Sakura-sama."

"This interview is over," Gaara said and stood up, he pulled her behind him. "Matsuri, show them out."

Matsuri said something sharply to the news crew and the door opened.

Her hand trembled in his. He leaned forward, and Sakura closed her eyes, one hand automatically pressing against his chest.

"Stop shaking," he whispered dully in her ear. "They're leaving."

Her eyes snapped open.

It had all been theatrics. Of course. Why was she always so stupid? Always caring more than those around her.

Clenching her jaw, Sakura untangled her hand from his. She walked to the bay window, and crossed her arms over her chest while looking out at the garden. The shades along with the leaves quivered softly. Flowers and vegetable plants ran along the fence.

It seemed quiet, peaceful, sunlight filtered out.

When the door finally closed and the interview crew pulled out of their driveway. There was nothing but silence.

"You're one of the rudest men I've ever met," Sakura said tonelessly.

Slowly, she turned back, ready to pommel him. Ready to scream. Ready to break free and tell him, never ever again could he use her like that. _Ready, ready, ready!_ to stand her for herself.

But there was no one standing there.

Gaara had left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Please take the time to comment if you can! :D
> 
> Next chapter will be posted on November 24th.


	5. Be Human

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy this chapter, you guys! :)

Gaara had taken his wedding ring off before putting on his boxing gloves. His hand still ached from her deadly grip.

He wanted to feel more dull pain.

Gaara was angry.

He didn't trust himself to be near anyone, especially not his wife. She had a temper that ignited his. And she was so, _so_ demanding.

Light filtered through the blinds of the basement, sparks of dust dancing every time Gaara hit. And he hit. And he hit. There was the twisting in his gut, the blood pounding in his head and the metallic taste flooding his mouth.

And he hit and hit.

The punching bag moved with dull sounds. With each hit, it spun around the chains holding it up.

Nothing loosened inside him.

They shouldn't have mentioned Kin. They shouldn't have mentioned his stupid, foolish, annoying inclination to seek her out, kiss her, play right in Orochimaru's palm. Who else was there? Who else had there ever been?

_Love only yourself._

Gaara brought his fists to the centre of the punching bag and the shock sent a sharp pain up his arm.

He was angry like he was still 16. He was angry like time had stopped and he hadn't grown and there were still all of his childhood mistakes walling him up. So, he hit and hit. And he thought of Kin and the way Orochimaru had sensed the loss in him, the despair, and used her. Used him.

He was always the naïve boy when it came to love. He thought the wedding would be a clean slate.

_Foolish, foolish_. He had never belonged anywhere. Did anyone really believe in his redemption?

And yet... _She didn't know about his past._

He punched the bag harder. The cords above tensed, rigid jerks swinging the bag back toward him.

Gaara panted, staring at the bag, there was as much anger as shame now, feeding each other. There were traces everywhere, sharp white lines all over his body. His tattoos. His lack of sleep.

He closed his eyes and lower his fists, his head rolled back.

Gaara breathed in and out, but it was like he was choking, a weight continually pressing down his chest. And the anger, never far, never forgotten.

He brought his fists back to his jaw and he punched the bag again, swift left hook, counter right hook when the soft abdomen of an opponent would be.

Sweat poured down his back. His shirt stuck to his skin, the tip of his hair now spiky, dripping down his forehead and neck.

Above his head, someone screeched, muffled, and he froze, blinking rapidly. He lowered his fists. More voices joined in, speaking unintelligibly.

Gaara frowned, tilting his head up, his pants growing shallower.

With his teeth, he rip the velcro adhering to his right boxing glove.

Above, laughter erupted, and he winced.

"What the hell?" Gaara mumbled and removed his other glove.

* * *

Sakura held her wedding ring between two fingers, spinning it slowly.

She breathed out, dazed, spinning slowly on herself. She knew she was alone, but somehow, she hoped he would walked down the stairs or appeared out of thin air.

Sakura was never good with silence.

There was ice painfully lodged in her chest, and fire in the pit of her stomach, in her mind, was silent. Extinguished. Muffled confidence. She couldn't swallow.

She was hollow in the gripping silence.

Stiff fingers tore her pearl earrings off her ears. Shuddering, Sakura unclasped the matching necklace from her neck. She clutched the jewelry in her hands.

_Squared shoulders, straight back, chin up_, she recited shakily under her breath. It shouldn't affect her, silence, being alone, hadn't that been her life for the past three years? Why would a ring, an arrangement change any of that?

It was her, alone, against the world. As always.

Slowly, Sakura lowered her fist to the kitchen counter. She released her hold, exhaling sharply. Her fist curled back to her side. Matsuri had mentioned her clothes and her jewelry were lent to her by designers, but she had forgotten their names, her mind reeling with all the other details, the pages pressed to her palm, someone telling her to sit still as they did her make-up.

She shook her head, breaking free the spinning words and constraints. She didn't want to think about that.

Sakura pinched her lips and turned toward a note he had left on the counter along with his credit card he hadn't taken back. '_Get whatever you want_,' he had written on a post-it in his precise handwriting. No loops, no squares, each letter was traced as in a textbook, neutral.

Her tongue between her lips, she aimed and flicked the card away from her.

"I'm not using you," she said roughly and narrowed her eyes at it.

She straightened her back, her hands finding her hips.

Then, she moved as if nothing had happened.

Sakura turned the coffee machine on and looked through the cupboards before she could find a mug. All his dishes were white, simple, without motifs.

"Weirdo," Sakura said under her breath.

While the coffee filled her cup, she opened the refrigerator and took out the milk.

She looked at the many cupboards and gave up looking for the sugar.

Sighing, Sakura's shoulder sank and she looked around her for her messenger bag. She spotted it by the entrance, neatly tucked to the side. She rummaged inside for her laptop, her stomach uneasy. In less than a day, Ino had left her five voicemail and Tenten two. She hated the thought of lying to them, but she couldn't avoid them forever.

She set her smoking coffee mug next to her computer.

Sakura chewed on her bottom lip as she sat by the kitchen counter. Before she could hesitate, she turned her computer on. The moment she logged on her video chat application, Ino called her.

"Here we go," Sakura sighed and answered. "Hey-" she started, laughing nervously.

"HARUNO SAKURA! HE SAID YOU WERE ONE OF A KIND!" Ino squealed, as she pressed a cushion to her chest. "SO SWOONY!"

"It's already out? In the press?" Sakura smiled sheepishly.

She was such a liar. Timidly, her eyes darted to the black square where Tenten's face would normally appear.

"It's on the website of the local newspaper since you're local!" Ino answered and flipped her hair over her shoulder. "You need to tell us everything!"

"Oh..." Sakura managed to say, but Ino was too excited to notice.

Her mind reeled. She should have called with a plan. She should have had a story ready.

"Tenten!" Ino shouted, oblivious. "Switch on your camera and squeal with me! Sakura always dates boring unromantic men. This is a first."

"Hey, you pig!" Sakura protested feebly.

"Can't. I'm in the middle of something," Tenten answered curtly.

"Never mind then! Look at that pic!" Ino's camera switched to her computer screen.

Sakura held a hand to her mouth. The article was titled: "Local promising student found love abroad". At the beginning of the article, there was a photo of Gaara leaning over her ear. Sakura had her eyes closed, one hand over his chest.

Her stomach dropped. 'Oh god...' she thought and forced a smile. They looked... perfectly in love.

"You look adorable!" Ino's face appeared once more and she propped her chin up in her palms. "Come on, Sakura, tell us everything."

"There isn't much to add, no?" Sakura offered a smile. "It's all... out there."

'This is my life,' she thought and the thought crept up her spine, a whisper in her here. She wasn't lying only to her friends. She was lying to everyone.

"Sakura." Tenten said and there was an edge to her voice.

Ino's smile dropped, and she straightened her back slowly, frowning.

"What's going on, forehead girl?"

"It was just so draining," Sakura laughed lightly and shrugged, rubbing her left arm as casually as she could. "That happened after the interview. They shouldn't have printed that one. We were sitting on the couch... those were nice too," she babbled on, and she wished her mind would focus.

She was not disappointed her husband had disappeared.

She was not the misfit with money problems and an annoying loud voice and opinion.

She was Happy Married Sakura.

"What did they ask?" Ino sighed wistfully and her blue eyes sparkled.

"The usual stuff," Sakura laughed and her throat protested and her mind protested and she was _such_ a liar. "They asked about our meeting..." she tapped her chin as if she was thinking about it. '_This is __a __normal __conversation between friends.__Don't overthink this,'_she told herself inwardly. "Then, I talked about how it was love at first sight."

Ino squealed with delight, her hands curling into fists around her pillow.

"LET ME SEE THAT RING AGAIN!" Ino yelled and tossed her pillow aside. She leaned in forward. "I can't believe you didn't tell us this was a unique piece. Oh my god, how much did it cost?"

"You can't asked that, you Pig!" Sakura shouted and shook her fist at her friend.

Ino fluttered her eyelashes at her.

"She's right, Ino," Tenten sing-sang.

"What?" Ino said flippantly. "His family pushed for it because of that scandal! So, we are working with what we can. Come on Sakura. Hand up!"

Laughing, in spite of herself at Ino's enthusiasm, Sakura held up her left hand.

Ino leaned in, squinting at the camera, then she smirked. She flipped her hair over her shoulder again, rising one of her shoulder in a flirtatious gesture.

"His brother is unmarried, no?" she giggled.

"Shut up, Pig! He's gay!"

"So? I just want a ring! He can keep the boyfriend if he's that important to him."

Ino winked.

"Ten!" Sakura snapped. "Just find her a man already!"

"Can't," Tenten replied and her voice sounded like she was meters away from her microphone. "I'm in the middle of something."

Sakura's smile faltered, the back of her neck prickling. There were times Tenten's weirdness and private life worried them more than it amused them.

Ino pinched her lips and threw her head with a loud sigh.

"Then, why did you pick up at all?!" she shouted exasperated.

"Because I have two hands," Tenten answered, her voice closer, light.

"More like two brain cells!" Ino snorted and Sakura pressed her hands to her lips to keep from chuckling. "My flower business is booming! Now, I need a man. It's the order of things. Money, fame, then, men," she counted on her fingers. "Come on, Ten, help a gal out!"

"What do you think I have? A list of eligible men? You've turned down half of this country!"

"But now, I'm ready for a relationship with anyone from the other half!"

Sakura laughed and opened her mouth her to reply, but a snapping sound interrupted her. She whirled around. Her heart jumped at the back of her throat. She could hear steps.

Someone was here.

"What the hell was that?" Sakura hissed, tensed.

"What was what?" Tenten asked roughly, and the camera flickered on. She was frowning, leaning in, her dark eyes darting behind Sakura. The room behind her was dark, unrecognizable, the resolution grainy.

The knob of a door turned roughly.

Sakura cried out.

Gaara emerged.

"What is it?"

Gaara pressed a towel to his face, his shirt ridding up his short. There were rings of sweat around his armpits and neck, and his hair was messy, falling down his eyes. He approached her and Sakura tensed, gaping at him.

"Who are you talking to?" Gaara asked and pointed at her laptop.

There was something feral, raw, in his movements. They flowed, for once, they didn't tick, halter, or freeze. Scars running up his forearms were deep white lines, tangled with bulging veins and defined muscles.

Gaara opened the refrigerator and Sakura blushed at the muscles of his back rippling through his shirt as he reached inside for a water bottle.

She opened her mouth, but nothing came out. He drank. Ino cleared her throat and she snapped back toward her laptop.

"Oh my god, Sakura, where are your manners," Ino said and fluttered her eyelashes. "Introduce us!"

Tenten held up her phone.

"Let me just... take a pic and send it to Hyuuga for inspiration."

"Mrs Sakuraaaa... I'm still waiting!"

Embarrassed, Sakura slammed the laptop shut over Ino and Tenten's laughter.

Gaara slowly screwed the cap back on his bottle. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, raising a brow at her.

"What were they saying?"

Sakura deflated, her eyes darting across the room, back to the door he had opened. She had never noticed it. The back of her neck prickled, her hands stiffening around her laptop.

"You were here... the whole time?" she breathed out.

"Working out downstairs. It's on the schedule."

She could feel his quiet presence, the insistence of his gaze. She briefly closed her eyes, refusing to look back.

"Downstairs..." Sakura repeated and she felt even more like a fool, a doll in a stranger's house. "I didn't know there was a downstairs."

Gaara leaned against the counter and crossed his arms over his chest.

"Hn. Why didn't you introduce me to your friends? Wouldn't they find it rude that you hung up on them?"

As if on cue, the ping of Ino's text startled her. Quickly, Sakura flipped her phone faced down on the counter.

"Because..."

Gaara raised an eyebrow.

Nothing else came.

"Because, what?" his face hardened.

Whether he was here or not, it shouldn't change anything, Sakura decided as she numbly gathered her computer and messenger bag. She pushed her laptop back in her bag with rough hands, murky mind. And he was still there. Hovering without moving. Demanding without speaking.

Sakura pinched her lips, sobs or laughter uncomfortably rising inside her chest. She was lost since the day she met him and agreed to marry him.

She walked towards the staircase.

"Sakura," Gaara called her back, something in his voice made her stop.

Sakura stood at the bottom of the stairs, tangled emotions and thoughts spinning. '_It shouldn't change anything_,' her mind insisted. She let her bag slip off her shoulder and she lowered it to the floor. She looked at him over her shoulder.

"You could have told me you were here."

Gaara frowned at her.

"It's on the schedule."

"I hate your schedule!" Sakura hissed, and she tried to contain her voice, her anger, but it burst between them. And she was loud and annoying, and all the things she promised herself she had outgrown. Shy. Push-over. She shook her head and pointed at him. "You have a mouth. Use it. I'm not reading your schedule like a desperate housewife."

"But I read yours." Gaara said slowly, his pale stare searching her face.

Sakura threw her hands up in the air with a frustrated sigh.

"Because you're a control freak and you can't interact like a human being," Sakura snapped and walked back to him.

His face darkened.

"I'm human..." Gaara said roughly.

Swiftly, she leaned toward him and jammed a finger in his chest.

Gaara blinked, his eyes widened, as he stared at her finger poking him. He lowered the hand holding the water bottle.

"What-"

"So, next time your wife is upset," Sakura cut off and withdrew her hand, breathing hard, "you don't just up and disappear. Hell, try a pat on the back. It shouldn't be so difficult since you treat everyone around you like they're a trained dog."

Gaara cocked his head to the side, his eyes widening.

"Do you often speak of yourself in the third person?"

Sakura shrugged, and spun around.

Still tensed with frustration, she grabbed her bag off the floor.

"I think you'll get at least to three wives before you understand a thing or two about treating human beings with decency."

"You're... You're thinking of our divorce?"

She glared back at him, her mouth curling up in a snarl.

"Now, if you would excuse I'm going upstairs," Sakura pointed toward her mouth. "See how easily my mouth moved to communicate stuff?"

Before she could reach the top of the stairs, Gaara said carefully: "Your mug..."

"It's not mine," she snapped angrily, and her steps grew louder down the hallway. "They are yours. My dishes are god knows where, remember?"

Sakura slammed the door of the bedroom behind her. She threw her laptop on the bed and crashed on it. She pressed both her hands to her face. Her skin felt hot, itchy.

A moment later, she heard the shower run.

Sakura sighed reaching for her phone buzzing in her pocket. She unlocked her screen to look at Ino's texts: Which one looks the best like his set? ;) Her text was followed by nine images of shirtless men with well-defined abs in indecent poses. Tenten had simply texted her to call them back soon with enough typos to suggest she had been busy doing something else when she texted her.

Sakura blushed furiously and flopped on her belly, throwing her phone away from her. She pressed her pillow to her face, groaning.

She tensed when the shower stopped. She bolted upright, her mouth opened, and her eyes darted to the walk-in closet. Why did she have to come here of all places?

As she expected, a moment later, Gaara knocked.

"What?" Sakura squeaked out.

She imagined him a towel now and her shiver ran down her spine. Sakura jumped off the bed and opened the window to let in some air. She pressed a hand to her forehead. The air was hot. She was hot. She grunted.

"I need to change. Can I come in?"

"Yes," she said stiffly, turned away from the door.

"I'm wearing a bathrobe, and I'm human..." he insisted on the word, his voice now hard and cold. "I'm not an animal. You don't have to stand in the farthest corner of the room."

Sakura glanced down at her hands, carefully flexing her fingers. He was right, this was ridiculous. She heard him close the door of the walk-in closet. She grimaced.

"I didn't know there was a door there too?" Sakura cleared her throat. "Is there another room I should be aware of?"

"You're like my brother."

"What?"

"You babble a lot."

She bit her lips together letting the uncomfortable silence settle in.

Gaara erupted from the walk-in closet a few minutes later. He wore an open collar shirt, the sleeves tucked perfectly into his pants, his sleeves revealing his watch. She bit her tongue not to comment on his appearance. She did babble a lot. She was annoying.

Sakura fidgeted with the pillow she held to her chest, refusing to think about the man in sport clothes who had stood in the kitchen.

She rubbed the back of her neck, embarrassed. Even if he didn't understand her native language, there was no way he could have mistook Ino and Tenten's laughter for anything else than what it had been.

Gaara sat at the foot of the bed, his back to her, reached down to put on his socks. She couldn't help, but watch him, holding her breath. He was so different now. Polished. Perfect. Not raw, and sharp and swift. And muscled.

He looked ordinarily built now.

Sakura pursued her lips and glanced away, her cheeks aflame.

"I'm going grocery shopping," he said as if the word cost him.

"Okay," she gulped.

"Do you want to come?" Gaara turned toward her, his jaw working. "I don't know what you like."

They stared at each other, their guards up, tensed.

There were the watch and the schedule, and in-between? Nothing. They were simply strangers.

"Okay, let's go, Gaara-sama," Sakura said blankly and bowed her head.

She stood up and walked around the bed. After she brushed by him, he stood up too, carefully keeping his distance.

"I thought it was Gaara-kun now," Gaara said, and Sakura looked back at him from the doorway.

There was no hint of amusement in his gaze. He said it like he said everything else with a factual monotone voice. He looked tamed now, even if his hair was as unruly, strands poking in all direction. He looked nothing like the man who had emerged from the basement.

'It's the clothes. It's a façade.'

Sakura shrugged nonchalantly, tearing her gaze from his.

"You thought wrong," she replied evenly and cleared her throat.

"Hn."

He followed her silently, replacing her shoes after her.

* * *

At the supermarket, Sakura sighed blissfully when the cool air of the air conditioning hit her shoulders. The sun was low, but it was still terribly hot outside. In the summer, the sunset was past meal time, something she had never fully gotten used to in the three years she had been there.

Out of reflex, she grabbed for a grocery basket.

"What are you doing?" Gaara said, and she startled letting the basket go.

She winced and turned back toward him. Gaara was already waiting for with a cart, an eyebrow raised at her.

"Oh, right. Reflex." she laughed lightly and shrugged off her purse to put in the front part of the cart.

"Even alone, I always used a cart," Gaara said and they headed toward the fruit and vegetable section first.

Gaara narrowed his eyes at some of the fruit. The mangoes were rip, sticky with juices, but he looked for greener juice. She couldn't help but frown at the absurdity of Gaara shopping for fruit in what he clearly considered a casual suit.

"Imagine if you had no money and needed to eat," Sakura tried to keep her voice light.

He bagged a couple of green mangoes and reached for a box of dates.

"Hn. Just grab whatever you want," Gaara said dully.

"It makes me feel cheap when you say that."

His eyes darted to her, and again, his stare was frank, direct, without any hint of emotion.

"What should I say?" Gaara asked stiffly and lowered the mangoes and dates in the cart. "You should eat what you want."

Her skin flushed with his proximity and his unwavering gaze. She couldn't move away.

"I'm not sure," Sakura said, her mouth dry.

He leaned in, and Sakura had the sense they were being watched. She glanced away, and everywhere around them, people were slowing down to look at them. She looked back at him. He didn't seem to care.

"What should I say? It's a simple question," he said.

She looked down at her feet, self-conscious.

"Not to me."

His phone beeped, and she startled. Sakura hurriedly turned toward the papayas, putting distance them, her heart still pounding to her ears.

Gaara looked at the text, narrowed his eyes, then slid his phone back in his pocket.

"Do you mind eel?" he said.

"What?"

"Eel. The fish."

"I know what an eel is," Sakura replied quickly, irritated, and looked around her at the fruit and vegetables.

They were still watching them, women and men whispering among themselves.

"That's his wife?" Someone sneered.

Sakura pinched her lips. '_Squared shoulders, straight back, chin up,_' she said to herself, but her hand trembled as it reached for oranges. She knew this was coming.

"Then, do you?" Gaara asked, closer to her now.

"Do I what?"

"Do you want some?" he asked even more slowly. "You're distracted. If I should use my mouth more, you should use your ears more."

Sakura picked up an orange testing its firmness in her hand.

"For a second, I thought I was on my way to discover you were actually decent, but I guess that was all in my head," she hissed and walked past him.

"Hn."

They moved to the back of the supermarket for the meat and fish vendors. Out of impulse, Sakura threw chocolate bars in her cart. He raised an eyebrow.

She pinched her lips, refusing to look at him.

Gaara pointed at the fish on display.

"You never answered about the eel. Yes or no?"

She leaned in toward him, agitated. A couple had stopped besides them, glancing in their cart.

"Maybe she's pregnant," she heard the woman whisper to her husband. "The chocolate... and that much fruit..."

"No," Sakura said loudly.

Then, she straightened her back and rearranged her purse on her shoulder. She turned away from him, clearing her throat, a faint blush on her cheeks.

Gaara blankly stared at her. Then, he reached inside the cart to rearrange the grocery, so the fruit would crushed her chocolate. She flushed redder.

"Could you pick the fish then?" he asked flatly and took out his phone.

Gaara typed quickly, oblivious to her or his surroundings.

Sakura turned back toward the fishmonger. His eyes darted between them. Sakura smiled brightly, stepping in front of Gaara to hide him from view.

"Do you have some salmon?"

"Yes, o-san," the old man started, then his gaze drifted again to Gaara before returning to her face. "I have a nice piece for you and your..." the fishmonger licked his lips, waiting for her to fill in the gaps.

Sakura smiled and pretended not to notice the man's curiosity.

"Husband," Gaara finished for the man, while Sakura said: "I'll take it."

The old man's eyes widened in surprise.

"I wasn't aware... Sabaku-sama," he bowed stiffly at her. He wrapped the fish quickly and offered her the package with both hands. "Would you also like some oysters? We have just received them. It's an excellent aphrodisiac. Perfect for honeymooners."

Sakura's jaw tightened and she blushed, at loss for words. Another couple of shoppers were hovering now, pretending not to eavesdrop.

"A dozen," Gaara replied, his head still inclined over his phone.

Her head snapped toward him, but he wasn't smirking or teasing. His face was blank, unreadable, illuminated by the screen of his phone.

Sakura had never known passion or flirtatious love like her best friends. She had dated rationally and kept a levelled head since her teenage years. There had been no flowers or chocolate, or emotional attachment.

Staring at Gaara, she abruptly, painfully, yearned for more. She yearned for the girl with the big dreams and romantic hope. '_But she was a s__illy annoying girl_,' a voice muttered in her ear, and she pinched her lips. No, this was better. No attachment. No emotion. Far, faraway from Konoha and her fangirling days.

'_Then, why d__oes__ it already hurt so much?_' the same voice taunted in her head.

If only, there weren't gawked at.

Sakura shook her head.

"Sabaku-sama?"

She looked up at the fishmonger with a smile. He had already wrapped the oysters in a box, holding it out for her above the counter.

"Thank you," she bowed her head in response. Before she could take the box, Gaara reached past her and took it and set it down in the cart.

They toured the market for the next hour, Gaara pausing momentarily to remind her to take what she wanted her or asked her specific questions about food. Sakura asked him nothing. He barely lift his head from his phone.

She tried her best to ignore the looks and the whispers.

"Are you done?" Gaara asked.

"Yes."

The cart was full and Sakura was momentarily anxious and thinking about taking out items. She couldn't afford any of it. She touched her forehead, chewing on her bottom lip. She turned toward him, but her mouth wouldn't move.

Out of pride, out of shame.

"What is it?" Gaara asked and he glanced at his watch before returning to his phone.

"What is what?" Sakura asked stiffly.

"You're frowning and sighing."

She glanced at his hand holding on the cart. His wedding ring was at once simpler and thicker than hers, but it matched hers.

"Stop staring at that phone," Sakura said instead, and she pulled back her shoulders to straighten her back.

How could the gawking not bother him?

"I need to work," Gaara said and pulled the cart closer to the cashier.

Sakura didn't reply.

"I prefer when you speak your mind."

She turned her head toward him, annoyed. He was staring at her, his fingers still on the screen of his phone.

"Like when you shout you hate my schedule," he drawled out with a raised eyebrow as he typed something on his phone.

Sakura flushed.

They edged closer to the cashier again.

"You want me angry?" she whispered more to herself than him.

He narrowed his eyes at her or at something on the screen, she couldn't tell. She focused on his hand again, and she could see faint scars running up under his sleeves.

"It's better than the alternative," Gaara said and when he looked up, she startled.

"What's the alternative?" she asked roughly, looking away from him.

"I understand anger," Gaara replied quietly not directly addressing her question, and he reached inside the cart to pull out the first items to set on the conveyor belt. "I can deal with it."

Her skin hummed from his proximity.

"Are _you _angry with me?" she breathed out.

"No."

"Hmmm..." she licked her dry lips.

His gaze held hers, waiting, expecting. Her jaw clenched. She didn't know what he wanted, what she was supposed to give him. If she had anything to give him. Wasn't it what she had wanted from relationships? No romance, just pragmatism? Her career before all else?

"I don't care what you prefer about what I say or feel," Sakura grumbled and started helping him. She opened her mouth again, but blanched remembering the card on the counter. "Oh. I forgot your credit card on the counter. I could just-"

He shrugged.

"It doesn't matter, I have others," he said dully. "Keep that one until we go to the bank on Saturday."

"Quit reminding me of the schedule," she groaned.

"Sakura."

She grumbled an acknowledgement, focusing on the weight of the groceries in her arms. She set them down, half-heartedly rearranging them, like he had done, so the bulky items wouldn't crush anything. She could still feel his eyes on her.

A shiver ran down her spine.

"I'm trying to get your things back."

She froze.

"That's what I'm doing. Matsuri is doing a list."

"Okay," Sakura said quietly and the back of her eyes burnt. "Thank you."

She didn't know how to be two. She didn't know how to be with someone. Together. She didn't know how to reach for a cart instead of a basket. Or how to mind someone else's schedule. Or how to clean up after herself because there was him now, and she wasn't alone anymore.

She would never be alone again.

And in that moment, she was terrified.

Somehow, he knew how to be with someone. Awkwardly, hesitantly, he tried.

"Don't forget the bread," Gaara said without looking at her.

She felt herself nod.

'_Get whatever you want_,' his voice whispered in her head as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

Not to be alone.

Yes, that was absolutely terrifying.

* * *

Temari joined her grand-mother for tea every Thursday at her office. When Chiyo invited her instead to join her at the family house, Temari knew she wanted her comfortable, with her guards down.

So, she had worn uncomfortable shoes and a tight dress with loose sleeves with a fabric that rubbed her raw. She had worked long enough as a diplomat and politician to know discomfort was good armour against vulnerability.

Discomfort kept you on your toes.

Temari was hushed in one of the living rooms on the first floor. Her grandmother had picked the blue living room, which had a view on the lake behind the house.

As soon as Temari entered the room, Chiyo waved her over. Temari almost smirked. She was holding one of the picture frames with all of her siblings. '_Love makes you sentimental and vulnerable,' _her grandmother had once told her. '_So choose wisely!_'

"Hello, obaasan," Temari greeted her and kissed her cheek.

"Remember this?" Chiyo said and held up the picture.

Kankuro was beaming with his law degree, one hand thrown around a reluctant Gaara. Temari stood on the other side of him, watching them both, with a grin.

"Of course," Temari said primly and set her purse next to her. "The following year, Gaara dropped out of med school, which was a better than that night he was arrested, I guess."

Chiyo looked over at her sharply, her eyes flashing with amusement. Temari smiled stiffly. She waited.

"Good girl. Enough chitchat. Let's have tea."

Her grandmother lowered the picture frame to the coffee table and reached for the bell to ring for the maid.

Temari crossed her ankles and smoothed out her dress, glancing around. Nothing had changed since they had all moved out of the house.

"I want your brothers and you to bury the hatchet," Chiyo said harshly. "Don't you all care about all old I am? You're all acting like children! I don't have the energy to chase you around like before!"

"_They_'re acting like children," Temari sneered. "They should be apologizing to me."

Chiyo closed her eyes briefly, nodding to herself.

The maid appeared and served the tea in decorative colourful cups of clay on the low coffee table. She then set a plate of dates and pastries next to their cup. Temari's stomach twisted and her hands curled into fists over her thighs.

Those were her favourites. '_Sly, sly old fox,_' she thought.

The maid bowed and left them alone.

"I don't think they see what I see," Chiyo said as if she was musing out loud. She waved at the cup, and Temari reached for one and passed it to her grandmother.

"What do you see, obaasan?" Temari repeated slowly, her back straightening as she retreated to her seat. She didn't touch her cup.

Chiyo clicked her tongue and blew the aromatic steam of the pu'erh tea. She took a quick sip before setting the cup on the small table next to her, next to the picture frame.

"They see you quitting your job and following that lazy punk! Of course, they're getting their panties into a twist! I was shocked at first too! But he's favourite to become the next mayor, isn't he?"

Temari's eyes widened in surprise.

"How did you know? We've worked hard to keep this under wraps..."

"Because I'm old, I can't hear gossips?" Chiyo tutted.

"Obaasan..." Temari tried but Chiyo held up her hand.

"I raised you. I know you wouldn't settle for about anything. When's the wedding? The engagement has lasted long enough!"

"Next month," Temari replied and looked at her steaming cup. _Not yet_. "We're sending out the invitations soon."

Chiyo shook her head.

"I want it before that."

"Obaasan!"

"Temari, this is a three-year engagement. I've been patient enough," Chiyo snapped. "I've cousins who have had three wedding in that time period."

"It's complicated," Temari said, her voice clipped.

"Nonsense! You tell that boy that his mother has resisted long enough. If she doesn't want to attend, she can comfortably sit back home in Konoha and not come. No one will miss her."

"I'll speak with Shikamaru," Temari said carefully after a moment of silence.

She already had. Many times. From her grandmother's tone, maybe she already knew how Shikamaru's mother kept coming between. Anger and shame boiled inside her as she looked down at her engagement ring.

"Even if you change your mind, Temari, even if it doesn't work out..." Chiyo said more gently and Temari's head snapped toward her, her lips twisting and blanching. "You can always come back here. You've a place here, but it's alright for you to make your place elsewhere. I hear that mayor's state house is very big."

"I just wish..." Temari started, but she stopped, gritting her teeth.

Chiyo waved her worries away and leaned back against the cushions. Her jewelled hand reached for her cup.

"Men are flimsy at best," she sighed and Temari gave her a small stiffening smile. "Your brothers hurt because they aren't the centre of your world anymore. Let them lick their wounds. Now, drink. I don't use my best pu'ehr on you for no reason."

Temari grinned more freely and reached for the cup. She took a sip, welcoming the strong and rich flavour. Now, it was her turn to attack.

"Obaasan..." she leaned back against her seat, still holding her cup in her hands.

"Hmmm?"

"This girl, Gaara married..." Temari blew the steam over her cup and took a second sip "Are you absolutely sure about her?"

Chiyo laughed loudly, nodding to herself approvingly. She reached over and briefly patted her hand as if to say, '_That's my girl_.'

Temari didn't relax, her face still composed, revealing nothing.

"Sakura is not as blunt as you, but she's just as driven. She has no family protection, and she made it this far. I wish you wouldn't look down on her."

"I can't help but think he married beneath him."

'I can't help, but think I somehow failed him if we reached that point,' Temari added silently. Her lips pursued. She had smiled satisfied when Sakura had slammed the door on her. It showed guts. Temari respected guts. She simply respected family connections and nobility more.

"He did, I suppose," Chiyo replied and set her cup back on the table by her elbow. "If you're looking at social status, but otherwise... she's his equal."

Temari smiled thinly, bringing her tea cup back to her lips.

"Did Gaara call you about visiting you with his new bride? I was surprised he even remembered the tradition. It must be Sakura's doing, truth be told."

Temari froze and met her grandmother's unabashed stare.

"No," she said through gritted teeth.

Chiyo clicked her tongue in disapproval.

"They are coming to see us elders on Saturday."

"They should start with the elders, yes," Temari said icily and took sip of her tea.

Chiyo pointed at her.

"Bury the hatchet when he calls."

"Yes, obaasan."

Temari bit her lips, her heart squeezing in her chest. '_If he calls... __If any of them calls..._'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Exams and other things are coming up at work, so I don't feel confident enough to give a date for the next update... It should be around end of December, though. I would rather not disappoint any of you by giving an actual date on the off-change that I don't manage to deliver in time.
> 
> Thank you for your support in advance!
> 
> As always, all feedback is appreciated! :D
> 
> -O-
> 
> In other news, we have created a GaaSaku discord for the GaaSaku community. Let me know if you're interested in joining and I'll send you an invite. :D


	6. Act Impenetrable

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the wait!
> 
> Here we go! Enjoy! :)

When they left the supermarket, Sakura silently fell in step behind Gaara. Her cooled skin quickly grew sticky under the heavy glare of the sun. She felt drowsy, numb, as she watched the gentle sway of the bags he carried, and the stiffness of his back.

The gawking and whispered words followed them in the parking lot, carrying their weight on the tension in her. They jumbled, insistent, incoherent, with his words.

"_I'm trying to get your things back._"

Sakura almost laughed, hysterical and furious.

She didn't believe him.

"_I'm trying to get your things back._"

The insistent look Gaara gave her when he said it was the same he gave the reporter: "_She's one of a kind._" Sakura had read somewhere that an unblinking gaze was a definite tell. It was meant to reassure. It was meant to offer the appearance of no alternative. _I can't look away. Here's the truth.__ You need to believe me._

She smiled sardonically and stared back at a young man's gaping at them. The man almost tripped over himself, the cart ringing loudly.

Unfazed, Gaara stopped to unlock the trunk of the car and gently put the bags there.

Still further back, Sakura waited for him to unlock the doors. She kicked at the dust. He hesitated, glanced at his watch in a movement of impatience. Sakura clenched her jaw, looking down at her feet, the moment tensed, suffocating.

"Let's go," Gaara said flatly, but he didn't look at her.

Sakura felt herself nod and mechanically walked around the car to the passenger's side. As she grabbed the handle, her gaze locked with the one of a woman rising a camera to take a picture. She froze momentarily. Swiftly, Sakura slid in the passenger seat. She wetted her lips, her head throbbing.

Sakura knew he was constantly lying to the world, to her, but she wished he wasn't.

She wished some part of it was real. Otherwise, she couldn't imagine how, one day, she would find that it was worth it, playing the doll, ignoring the gawking, the vicious comments. Living with his coldness and her loneliness.

She wished she was strong enough to lie down fact after fact: _Here's why I deserve your attention. And here. And here._ _**I am one of a kind.**_

Sakura tried to say something, anything, as they drove away from the supermarket. She piled up careless, senseless sentences in her mind about the weather or the cases she had seen during the day.

She couldn't bring herself to say any of them.

They drove on in silence.

His presence felt artificial, static. He didn't choose silence the way others chose nervous laughter or babbling. He didn't look at her, he didn't touch her, his gaze alternating between the road and his mirrors, and Sakura had the painful impression that she didn't exist. Even in close proximity, she didn't exist.

There were the watch and the phone, and in-between? Nothing.

Later, at home, Sakura watched him put away the grocery, fists curling and uncurling at her sides. She felt like a ghost.

She hated, hated it. Hated him.

Her heart squeezed in her chest.

"I need to study," she announced lamely and went upstairs to find her textbooks.

Gaara didn't answer.

Upstairs, Sakura stopped in the doorway of her study. She considered the room, the empty desk and the new office chair folded on one another. Past a mural light pink bookcase, there was a grey armchair oriented toward the window. She took a step in the room, imagining herself working here, filling the bookcase, curling up on the armchair to read.

Sakura gulped, approaching the window. It was too easy to imagine she could be happy, surrounded by the right beautiful things. Too dangerous to think she would always have all of this.

With stiff hesitant fingers, Sakura moved the curtains aside. She had a view over the garden like from the bedroom. Plants and flowers and vegetables snaked across the yard, some organized in thigh lines and others, in swirling ones. Her insides turning to ice, boiling with acid, she involuntarily thought: '_This is another one of _her_ indelible marks._'

The mystery woman was everywhere, and where she wasn't, Sakura was a misfit.

"Or he could be a gardener," she muttered and laughed dryly.

Sakura released the curtains, shaking her head, as she walked back to grab her backpack from the bedroom.

She needed to carve her own room here. It was _her_ house.

She retraced her steps down the hallway, her mind coiling, thick and angrier.

"Squared shoulders, straight back, chin up," Sakura mumbled to herself as if it could erase everything, reset the clock. Reset her.

She stomped and stomped until the last stair.

Lips pinched, Sakura settled on the kitchen table, and she felt Gaara briefly stilled. Behind him, the oven's on light flashed, its temperature rising. She dropped her textbooks on the kitchen. She made as much noise as she dared taking out her textbook, her notebook and highlighters from her bag.

'_This is me, I'm here, here, and here_,' the noise said. She breathed out, when there was nothing else except to start reading. It didn't feel like enough.

Gaara started moving again, like he was never interrupted.

Intermittently, Sakura glanced at him through her eyelashes. Every time she did, her hands tightened around her textbook, and she flushed.

She wanted this to work.

She didn't want this to work.

She was split between two alternatives, as always, one part of her hopeful, meek, craving praise, while the other part was raging, terrible, and angry.

She didn't want any of this mystery woman's crumbs. She wanted her house, and her husband. Her own future.

She just wasn't sure, it was him.

Gaara bent over the kitchen island, his reddish hair paler under the kitchen's lighting. As he cooked, the sound of him chopping was faint, yet precise, lulling her. He didn't loom. He didn't suffocate her as he normally did with his few words, piercing gaze or emotionless response.

Nervousness rising, Sakura pressed a hand to her mouth to keep from giggling at how domestic the scene was. He cooked, and she studied. Was that really meant to be them, until death did them part?

Sakura glanced up at him, but he was already staring at her. Sakura hiccuped, gripping her textbook closer to her.

Her heart pounded at her temples.

She blushed deeply.

"When I get your desk back, are you going to keep working in the kitchen?" Gaara asked quietly.

Sakura smiled sheepishly in response. He said "when". His gaze cutting through her, insistent. Her mind vehemently shouted: '_Liar!__'_ She forced her hands to let go of her textbook.

"Yes, I like how open it is," she lied.

She glanced down at her notes once more, letting her hair hide her face. She forced herself not to be nervous, her mind nagging back at her.

"Hn."

Sakura couldn't tell whether he groaned from the task at hand or if he was answering her.

She squeezed her eyes shut. When they fluttered back open, nothing had changed. He was as out of reach, and her, as out of place.

"Gaara-sama…"

Gaara briefly looked up at her in an acknowledgement, his brows furrowed as he tried to pry open an oyster.

"Do you need help?" Sakura asked and winced at the fake cheeriness of her voice.

'_Shouldn't we try to make it __work__?_' she was too cowardly to ask. Unblinking, she watched him, expectant, hating herself for it.

"No," Gaara answered curtly and set another open oyster in a plate. It clicked softly.

Sakura cleared her throat, glancing away. Her fingers mechanically folded the corner of the page she was holding. All she could feel was the iciness leaking off him crawling under her skin. No. _No_.

"Shouldn't we divide domestic tasks?" she asked, her voice taut, high-pitched.

No. _No_. She expected it again, that word that kept her out of his life, and claimed her in a borrowed role.

"You're studying, and you hate schedules," Gaara said tonelessly and opened another oyster with a flick of the wrist. "I didn't expect you would want to establish a clear division of domestic tasks." Once more, his gaze met hers, unblinking and cold. "Unless it's only my schedule you hate."

Sakura smiled tightly, drumming her fingers on the table.

"I feel like I'm taking advantage of you," she paused, and her fingers stilled, her mind at once blank and full. Could she really count on this stranger? She was fine on her own. Fine. Fine. Alone. She had always been alone. She resumed talking, her voice high-pitched and cheerful, drowning her thoughts, "You put away the grocery and now, you're cooking."

Gaara frowned.

"You said, you needed to study."

"I do but-"

"Then, I see no problem."

Sakura opened her mouth to argue, but Gaara turned away from her to open the refrigerator. He took out a lemon, and soon began cutting it in quarters.

She turned the page of the textbook, the back of her eyes burning as she scanned the techniques of spider bite diagnostics.

The silence buzzed, electrifying. She wondered how he could look so calm, unaffected, regardless of the situation. She looked down at her hands, smoothing down the glossy pages of her textbook.

Gaara set a plate of open oysters in front of her. She blinked up at him, distracted, surprised she hadn't felt him approach her. He cocked his head to the side, reading over her shoulder. He grimaced faintly and his hands released the back of the chair he had leaned on.

His presence flickered, near and away from her. Sakura blinked before she understood he was waiting for her to try the oyster.

"I've never had these before..." Sakura admitted reluctantly and bowed her head in thanks. "They look fancy."

"I cut the muscle from the shell for you," he answered as if he was choosing his words carefully. "You can just eat it as if you are downing a shot."

Sakura looked at the plate then at him, her face burning. She didn't move.

"Here," Gaara sighed and demonstrated with slow gestures. He let the empty shell fall in an empty plate.

"Oh... okay."

Sakura tried mimicking him, tilting back her head as she brought the shell close to her lips. She pressed a hand to her mouth, a cool salty sensation in her mouth as she struggled to swallow.

"Oh dear God, the texture..." Sakura coughed and wiped her mouth with a napkin.

"You don't like it?" Gaara asked, and her head whipped toward him. She could have sworn she heard laughter in his voice.

He was back behind the counter, his face expressionless, as he cut onions. She shook her head. She couldn't imagine him laughing.

"I'm not sure," Sakura answered carefully and glanced at the plate still on her left. "It tastes like the sea. I'm not sure how this is supposed to be an aphrodisiac though."

The knife stilled once more.

Gaara raised an eyebrow at her, his eyes glittering with something she couldn't place.

Sakura gaped, flushing furiously. She tried to catch herself, shifting in her seat, clearing her throat. She rubbed her neck.

"You know... there is no real science behind aphrodisiacs," she spoke fast and bit her tongue not to ramble on.

Gaara returned his attention to the onions and the other vegetables he was cutting.

"I took them because I find it easier not to argue with people, especially elders."

Sakura smiled thinly.

"_I'm trying to get your things back._"

"_She's one of a kind._"

He did and said all that was expected of him, she could see it now. Even their marriage had been expected of him.

Her cellphone pinged, interrupting her trail of thoughts. After wiping her hands, Sakura took her cellphone from her pocket. She frowned, then blanched when she read the email from the hospital.

"What is it?" Gaara asked even if his eyes were still focused on the vegetables he was cutting.

"I'm sorry, Gaara-sama, I need to go soon," Sakura said struggling to keep her voice even. She carefully pushed back her chair. "They changed my shift at the hospital, and I need to leave in one hour."

Gaara frowned, slowly setting the knife down. His face grew harder.

"They put you on the night shift? You worked this morning."

"Someone must have cancelled at the last minute," Sakura smiled until her face ached. He didn't reply. Uneasily, she waved toward the stairs. "I'll go shower."

'_I'm a liar too now, I guess._'

Sakura felt his stare on her as she climbed up the stairs to the bathroom. Once she closed the door behind her, she leaned back against it and re-read the email. Her rotation in surgery at been pulled. She had been reassigned to pathology. The email didn't explain why, but Sakura saw in her mind's eyes the gawking of the man, the snickering comment of a woman at the supermarket.

Sakura glanced up, meeting her frightened stare in the mirror.

'_Was it worth it now?_' her mind demanded and Sakura tasted scorching bile in her mouth.

* * *

Gaara barely saw her in the last three days.

Pacing faster than usual in the living room, he obsessed over the oysters she didn't finish. (_Of course, she wouldn't be duped about his intentions.)_ He obsessed over the schedule she hadn't replaced. (_How could she hate schedules?)_ He obsessed over why she wasn't here. (_Did she already know what he used to do 'for fun'? Did she somehow sense what kind of monster he was?_)

He was haunted by the parentheses of his life, the careful limits that surrounded his life. The pieces missing, the pieces his grandmother and later, Kankuro buried. His mother, his uncle, the arena, his boxing gloves, Rock Lee, Kin. Kin. Kin.

Gaara stopped pacing, his fingers twitching by his sides. It was 5 am, and, for the first time in a long time, he was terrified.

Sakura hadn't come home.

They were too many ticks, too any lost hours and the cycle that never ended for him because he didn't sleep.

Gaara grabbed his cellphone off the coffee table. The lock screen revealed no new texts or missed calls. There was a hand-written note and nothing else. He let his phone drop on the couch, pines and needles covering his entire body.

Gaara walked to the kitchen and started the coffee machine mechanically. It whirred, noisily grinding the coffee beans.

Arms crossed, Gaara leaned back against the kitchen island waiting for his coffee.

There was still her note on the refrigerator, a ripped page from a notebook, with scribbles and crossed out words he couldn't make out anymore. He mouthed her words again, his lips twisted in a snarl.

'_Working late! Will sleep in the on-call room,_' Sakura wrote when he was at work.

Anger and terror drew him in too easily, edged between each passing second. How many punches he could throw in this time before it all turned into terror? _Tic__k__ to__ck_. He knew how long it took to turn into a monster when all lights were out. _Tic__k__ toc__k_.

That was why Gaara liked constants, things he could plan and expect. With constants, with planned, listed and scheduled activities, there was no time to revert to the angry boy he had been. No time for the past.

And she was supposed to be here regardless.

She was supposed to be his wife, but she was nothing like she was supposed to be. She was nowhere where she was supposed to be.

Gaara expected her working on the kitchen table. He expected the door of the bedroom close at night. He expected her alarm clock ringing at least thrice at 5 when she had the morning shift, and not to hear it at all when she worked in the afternoon.

He never expected her to sleep at the hospital and come back for few hours at the time to change clothes and nap.

'_When are you coming home?_' Gaara started each message, but he always balled the note to throw it in the recycling bin. It sounded grotesque. Needy. He didn't care whether she was here or not, he tried to convince himself. It was the unpredictability of her presence, he dreaded.

Gaara drummed his fingers on the counter waiting, always waiting. It was 7 am. His cup of coffee steamed, the bitter scent rising thick, the ping of Matsuri's emailing him today's up-to-date schedule. All constants. Unlike Sakura.

He hated waiting.

'_What do you need from the __grocery __store__?_' Gaara wrote neatly in a new note. '_Can you take care of the garbage? I'm working late tonight._' He lifted the tip of the pen off the paper, considering his words for a moment, then tossed the pen to the side.

Gaara ran a hand through his hair, thought better of it and balled the note. It landed in the recycling bin along with hers.

He then took his coffee mug upstairs to his study.

He felt lonely without the chaos of the kitchen, or her shoes kicked off. Now, she didn't leave her textbooks everywhere or her dishes piled up in the sink.

It was as if she had never existed.

And it was terrifying.

* * *

"_Wake up!_"

The file slapped the table by her elbow and Sakura startled, awake, blushing furiously, her ears ringing.

The white room momentarily blinded her.

Quickly, Sakura pulled the microscope back toward her, her vision still unfocused. She touched her stiff neck, and the quiet ruffle of pages turning from the lab technicians pierced through her torpor.

Sakura blinked, grimacing in her chair. She could barely feel her butt on the high stool.

The curious stares of the technicians weighed on her like every morning, but they didn't interfere.

"Awake yet?" Dr Namiyo Kirino said coldly.

Sakura pasted a smile on her face and looked up at the doctor.

"I apologize," she said quickly and bowed her head.

"Yes, I'm sure you do."

Namiyo still spoke Windian with the thick accent of the Water country, his native country. His eyes were deep blue, almost black, never smiling. He perpetually looked startled, his greyish hair spiking out in all direction, his round face disproportionate relative to his frail body. He was the chief pathologist, her attending. Sakura used to admire him. They came from similar backgrounds, foreigners admitted in Med school in Suna.

Now, she wished they had never crossed path.

It wasn't enough that she thought she had sold her soul for money, everyone else was thinking it. And everything she had accomplished was attributed to Gaara. Her past scholarships, her grades, her admission to the University of Suna in one of the most prestigious medicine program world-wide.

"Move this one up the priority list," Namiyo said tapping a bony finger on the file he had added to her pile. "This is urgent."

"All of those files are urgent, Namiyo-sensei," Sakura said, refusing to look away first.

He straightened his posture, slow, as a building wave. He glared at her, looking dryer and frailer, despite his gaze darkening.

"Are you talking back to me?" he asked softly.

'_Learn your place_,' people had repeated in various ways over the last few days. Sakura had half-expected this attitude from Windians as their customs followed a stiff set of rules and an even stiffer hierarchy. '_Stay within your lane._'

'This is my place!' Sakura wanted to scream back, but she meant the hospital. She thought like everyone else that Gaara's lifestyle shouldn't be her own. She didn't deserve it. She hadn't worked for it.

"No, Namiyo-sensei," Sakura said quietly.

She dropped her gaze to the file, her heart sinking. She hadn't interacted with patients in days.

"Stop sleeping on the job, or I'll write you up."

"I apologize, Namiyo-sensei. It won't happen again."

"I'm picking this up in an hour. The surgery team is waiting for these results. Understood?"

Her heart sank. It hardened. This was meant to be for _her_ team.

"Hai."

Sakura turned back toward her microscope and pressed her eyes to the binoculars to look at the new samples.

She imagined punching the microscope.

Then, she imagined punching him.

She didn't feel better.

She felt exhausted.

* * *

Later, Namyio Kirino looked over her report. Surrounded by harsh light, he loomed greyer, dryer, in front of the wide windows. Paper rustled and Sakura tried to focus on the framed pictures of his family around his keyboard. His children were caught smiling, his wife part or not of the frame.

Sakura shifted on her feet.

Finally, Namyio lowered the report on his desk, tapping one finger on it, his head tilted to the side. Sakura's palms grew cold.

"Is there a problem, Namyio-sensei?"

"Not at all..." he breathed out.

His brows knitted together, he searched her face for a while.

Sakura steeled herself.

After what seemed an eternity, Namyio handed her the paperwork, his face pensive. He turned back to his computer monitor, leaning back against his chair.

"Give this to Shi-sensei directly. He's the resident on the case."

Relieved, Sakura bowed and took the file. She slid the door of his office open and closed it hurriedly behind her.

The light was less sharp in the hallways of the pathology and public health labs, more yellowish than bright white. Sakura walked swiftly and passed through the secured doors to the hallways of the family clinic. With each step, she slowed, weighed down by the stares and the whispers. Tilting her head, so her hair would hide her face, Sakura tried to duck out of sight as she pushed the door of the stair case.

The surgery ward was one floor up.

"Sakura."

Sakura startled and whirled around, her heart at the back of her throat. The door slammed back shut.

"Gaara-sama," she stammered and bowed. "What are you doing here?"

Nervously, Sakura glanced around them, scratching her arm.

Gaara didn't move, pale eyes focused on her. He sat on a bench, his arms crossed over his chest, his head tilted back against the wall.

How could he not mind the constant, pressing buzzing of voices and stares? Sakura wondered.

Sakura pinched her lips and drew closer to him.

"Are you okay?" she asked and her eyes quickly scanned his body.

"You asked me to come here and do this," Gaara replied monotonously and his eyes fluttered shut.

"What?" Sakura screeched, and she pinched her lips at her informal tone.

Unabashed, Gaara shifted in his seat until he sat up, his eyes locking with hers. Sakura almost staggered back at the intensity of his stare. His whole face seemed to shift as he momentarily snarled, then his lips drew a hard unwavering line.

"The STD screening."

"Oh," Sakura breathed out and blushed furiously.

"It's very uncomfortable," he added quietly, and his eyebrow twitched briefly.

Sakura grimaced at the mental images, her cheeks burning hotter.

"I-I... Yes."

Awkward silence stretched. Gaara eventually leaned back against the chair, his head thudding softly against the wall.

"I apologize, Gaara-sama, but I need to go back... Shi-sensei is waiting for these results," Sakura gestured with the file in her hand.

"Hn."

Gaara glanced at his watch. His eyes drifted shut.

Sakura pinched her lips and bowed before pushing open the door leading to the staircase. She sprinted up the stairs to the next floor, the surgery ward. Still agitated by her run-in with Gaara, she approached the nurse station, her movements jerky.

She leaned over the counter.

Two of her classmates were looking through files.

"Hey!" Sakura managed through her dry mouth, her heart squeezed in a fist. She should have been there, with them. "Has any of you seen Shi-sensei?"

Yu looked at her over her glasses, smiling coldly.

"Oh, isn't the newly appointed princess."

"I'm always here, Yu-chan," Sakura snapped. "You shouldn't be surprised. Now, have you seen-"

"What I'm surprised at is how thick your husband's file is," Yu said and sat on the edge of the desk. She pretended to fan herself with a thick file.

Sakura froze.

The sheets of paper rustled, radiography sticking together and parting. Sakura forced herself to glance away.

"I mean, there were rumours, but..." Yu shook her head and shrugged. "I guess you've a taste for bad boys, right, Sakura-_sama?_"

"Put it back," Sakura breathed out.

"I'm waiting for a counsel," Yu replied with pout. "What does it mean when a husband does a screening, but the wife is too uptight to think she needs one?"

"Just put the file back."

"Sakura."

His voice dropped like a bomb, and she saw the sarcasm turned to wild terror in her classmates' face. The nurse sprung to her feet.

"Gaara-sama," they bowed.

Slowly, Sakura turned around and bowed her head.

His eyes drifted to the file. Gaara didn't react, but his gaze remained long enough for Yu to blanch and attempt to hide the file in a nearby pile.

"Let's talk for a moment," he told her and walked away.

Sakura followed him.

"I've a lot of work..." she attempted weakly.

Her neck prickled from the stares of Yu and the others.

His face quivered, shifted, then it was once more blank. Sakura beat the file on her thigh, unable to suppress her nervous energy.

They stood over a meter apart, in front of the vending machines.

"I'll make this brief," Gaara replied icily. "Why were you in pathology instead of surgery?"

"Sometimes, we need pathology results for surgery," she replied, unblinking.

"Your access card has the colour code of the pathology ward," he hissed.

Sakura's hand fell on her access card, and her cheeks burnt.

"Are you handling this or do you want me to step in?"

Her heart pumped wildly, and squeezed, loaded with too much anger, too much loneliness. She moved, ticked, like a bomb, and his head turned away from her. She could, she _would_ fight for herself. She didn't need a champion. She just needed to square her shoulders, straighten her back, and lift her chin up.

She didn't need him.

He had told her 'no' too many times.

"I'm handling it, Gaara-sama," Sakura replied coolly.

He grimaced, his hands on his hips, his gaze away from hers. His jaw worked, his neck corded. His eyes darted back to her, locking with her startled eyes. He approached her swiftly.

She felt cornered, the people around them slowing to a blur.

"Don't call me Gaara-sama," he spoke low and slow.

Sakura didn't answer, all of her hardening.

"Will you promise me you'll let me know if it becomes too much for you alone?" his voice was softer now, barely a whisper.

Sakura nodded reluctantly, not trusting her voice. Gaara was so close, she could see the deepening lines around his eyes. He smelled of aftershave and strong coffee. The scars were everywhere, jittery. Absentmindedly, her head throbbing with her hammering heart, she reached up as if to touch him.

Gaara moved closer.

Her arm dropped back to her side, petrified.

They were uncoordinated.

"I rescheduled both visiting the elders and our meeting at the bank because of your schedule."

She clenched her jaw.

"I'll pick you up tonight," he added and straightened his suit jacket.

"I can't tonight... I'm working."

Gaara drew his face closer, searching her face. Sakura held her breath, both her hands pressed to her chest, the file between them, her only shield.

"Another time, then," he said finally and his gaze finally released hers.

Gaara moved around her to head back toward the nurse station. She grabbed his wrist, her heart, her breath, deafening in her ears. She was ready to be burned away, erased, as long as there was the tiniest chance they would see her as she has once been: a talented student. Dry-mouthed, this close to him, skin-to-skin, she didn't know how to voice it.

She wanted to be whole.

So, she shook her head, her whole body quivering, emotion rippling on every surface.

He turned his head toward her, his face hardening. For the first time, she felt like he truly saw her.

"You said you'll let me handle this," Sakura pleaded softly and tugged lightly at his wrist.

"My medical file is my business," he said acidly.

"They'll think it's me. Please."

"Hn. Did you eat lots of spinach in your life?"

"What?" Sakura stammered.

"You've the strength of a bull."

Sakura looked down at her hand still circling his wrist.

"Oh."

She released him immediately and apologized quietly. She glanced down at her feet. Gaara looked at her. So different now. Meek.

"Did you look inside?"

Startled by his tone, Sakura glanced up at him.

"No."

"Do you..." Gaara paused and tilted his head to the side. "Do you have something you wish to ask me?"

He looked at her hard. She licked her lips uselessly. She thought of the countless scars, the radiography she could surmise from the thickness of his file when Yu fanned herself. She gulped, breathless, mindless.

"No," Sakura breathed out. Her word dropped like a weight between them, and they moved away from each other, involuntarily mirroring each other.

With renewed composure, Gaara stared at her a little longer, before he walked away.

Sakura bowed stiffly after him, at once relieved and terrified.

She didn't want to know, Sakura convinced herself. She didn't want to care, the part of her that was always contradicting her whispered back.

On numb legs, Sakura walked back to the nurse station.

"I persuaded him not to get you fired," Sakura said and took the file back from the pile. "Now, leave us alone."

"Or what?" Yu challenged.

"Or you'll get kicked out of the program. Wasn't that clear? Want an ethics committee to weigh it on it?"

Yu smirked and shrugged before she turned away from her.

What good was it to square her shoulders, straighten her back and lift her chin when no one was looking? When no one was listening? When she was viewed as someone else's doll?

Sakura passed a shaking hand over her face, her skin moist and hot, while her core was shattered ice. Her gaze cast down, she asked one of the nurses where Shi was.

The response was a frightened, clipped mutter: "Room 18."

Gaara did that.

Sakura walked the hallway toward Shi, the file in her shaking grasp. Her mind floated, cutting slivers, at odds.

She wanted brutal retaliation.

She wanted to disappear.

She was angry.

She was desperate.

She couldn't win.

* * *

Meanwhile, kilometres away, Director Orochimaru sat in front of Sasuke Uchiha at one of his private estates, his insides twisted in anticipation.

He gained power through others, through others' bodies, others' will and dreams. He liked using shells like Kin, pulling at strings until her movements bent to his gain. He coveted Sasuke Uchiha now. The youngest of the Uchiha brother was a man desperate to re-establish his family crest and company.

A shell to be.

Orochimaru's nostrils flared as Kin served them tea. The steaming liquid dripped unstable, droplets flooding the tray.

Orochimaru raised a hand and Kin released the teapot, taking her place behind him.

She had grown frail and thin, more bones and edges than Orochimaru remembered. Used to the marrow. Instinctively, he knew he would need to get rid of her soon. For now, she still served her purpose, like her brothers acting as hi bodyguards.

Orochimaru reached for his cup, his large sleeve sliding up his slender wrist. The tea's aroma unwrapped, sweet and burned bitterness, its colour rich brown swirling.

"Do you know what a sand burial is, Sasuke-kun?" Orochimaru asked softly in the dialect of Konoha.

Delicately, he hummed over his cup, watching Sasuke through his eyelashes. His dark hair hung low on his forehead, his pale face frozen in disgust. He tore his gaze from Kin to focus on Orochimaru. He smiled privately, soon Sasuke would be as useless, bony, carved out, like Kin.

"I don't care about Windian traditions," Sasuke answered coldly and moved to the edge of his seat to reach for his cup.

He wore a modern suit, but he was trapped in the past. He dreamed of a Uchiha glory that was long gone. He dreamed of parents long gone, a brother also long gone. He dreamed and dreamed, and never saw the present for what it was.

Orochimaru tilted his head to the side, his lips curling up in a patient smile.

"Oh, but I think you'll like this story," he began in his thin voice. "It's a burial of kings. The body of kings is dragged to the desert and left there to feed the gods and keep the demon Shikaku at bay. It is said a sand burial is a king's final protection to his kingdom."

His spoon clicked on the porcelain as Orochimaru swirled his tea. He tasted the tea and smacked his lips together. Sasuke scowled impatiently.

"Gaara stepping down will benefit us both," Orochimaru concluded and leaned back in his seat.

"Why did you bring a guest?" Sasuke snapped. "I don't know her. I don't trust her."

Orochimaru chuckled and waved Kin away. She bowed, her cheeks pale in fury. A few minutes later, the door clicked shut, and she was gone.

"Better?" Orochimaru smiled indulgently. "Kin was very dear to Gaara, you see? I never come empty-handed."

"Hn. Isn't he married?"

"Oh, yes. Look at that headline: "Cinderella travels in rags"," Orochimaru read and slapped the newspaper, showing a picture of a woman sitting on a bus. "She's just a decoy. Unimportant."

"Kin also looks like a decoy to me," Sasuke replied with disdain.

Orochimaru would need to thread carefully. He knew Sasuke disdained him for the way he reached for power through others. They neede each other now, but later... Later, they would turn to each other.

He licked his lips.

"You're so rude, Sasuke-kun," Orochimaru chuckled. "I just want Gaara to be told she's here with us. Then, I want you to take her to Suna when you visit for the upcoming charity gala. You received my invitation, yes?"

"Why would I do that?"

'_Because __Gaara took the company back from me, and he has to pay for his insolence_,' Orochimaru's face wrinkled in a flash anger.

"Because we want the same thing. With Uchiha Inc buying Sabaku Inc off, you widen your market and I finally become director."

Sasuke looked at him, mistrust blatant in his darkening face.

'_Smart boy_,' Orochimaru thought and his heartbeat quickened.

"The board of directors is meeting next month," Orochimaru continued with a honeyed voice. "I want Gaara to be dismissed then. A proper sand burial. The family business he purchased... I was the one to make sure he would find it. He's weak of heart."

He took another sip from his tea, his yellowish eyes burning through Sasuke.

"Is this why you told me not to buy it out?"

"Why yes, my dear Sasuke, I want you to sink it further. Stop the supplies for their new product." he smiled, his pointy teeth gleaming. "Let's bury a king."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you liked it!
> 
> Next update is two weeks from now, on March 7th. This is partly why this chapter is so late. I wrote a lot of scenes ahead, so we can go back to regular updates. :)


	7. Be Here

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy the chapter, guys! :) There's an extra 1000 words.

Sakura welcomed the silence of the deserted on-call room.

With a sigh, she crashed in one of the bunk bed, not bothering with the bed sheets. She dozed, her sleep was light, jerky, constantly interrupted by her reeling thoughts. Dr Kirino had thoroughly checked her work before letting her go.

"_Surprisingly good. Now, go on._"

Sakura rolled to her side, her head throbbing.

Stifling a yawn, Sakura took her phone out of her pocket. It was only 8:17PM. She unlocked her phone and froze. The screen still showed on the conversation with Gaara. Her fingers trembled over an endless wall of unanswered texts. She didn't know why she bothered.

She lowered her phone back, shifting in the bed to find a more comfortable position. She drifted in and out of sleep when her phone buzzed.

Groggily, Sakura held up her ringing phone to her face. '_Shit_,' she thought, reading the names of Ino and Tenten. The 'accept' button of the conference call blinked angry red. '_Shit_.' Sakura struggled to sit up. She quickly smoothed down her hair before answering the call.

"Hey, girlfriends!" Sakura shouted cheerfully.

She hoped the room was dark enough her friends wouldn't question her surroundings. She hoped they wouldn't question the cracks in her voice, her blotchy face. She hoped, she hoped... She hoped her life would make no waves, she realized and her stomach churned painfully. Didn't she hope for too much these days?

"Yo, bitch," Ino shouted back, her pale eyes flashing. Her face was almost pressed against her phone, filling the screen. "You can't forget your friends even with that rock on your finger! Understood?!"

"Like she said," Tenten said, and her tone sent a shiver down Sakura's spine. As if on cue, she heard the familiar click of metal. Tenten's hand was out of sight. Ino and Sakura stiffened, halted.

_Click. Click._

Sakura locked glance with Ino, but her mouth was set, no trace of her usual amusement at Tenten's antics.

After a round of her empty magazine, Tenten let the gun go and dug her fists in her cheek to support her head. She looked once more playful and cheerful, her eyes sparkling.

"Where are you?" she asked in a whining voice. "We miss youuuu!" she pouted.

"Hmm," Sakura quickly pasted a smile on her face. "At home?"

Tenten's smile dropped. She narrowed her eyes, then she whipped back her head. She shouted something over her shoulder the microphone didn't catch. Her camera shifted for a moment, and Sakura glimpsed at Neji arriving from work.

Her heart pounded. Her nails dug into her thighs. Too close. It was too close.

"Geez, is your husband gonna listening in as always?" Ino rolled her eyes at Tenten. "This was supposed to be an intervention, Ten! Shoo, Neji!"

Unlike Ino, Sakura was grateful for the distraction. She smoothed down her hair again, smiling sheepishly when Neji leaned in to kiss Tenten's temple.

"I assure you, Yamanaka, your conversation doesn't interest me," he said coldly, and he disappeared from view again.

"Neji, you're the love of my life, but you're also a stingy liar," Tenten sighed. "You're the worst gossip, I know."

"Tenten," Neji hissed, out of sight.

"Shut up, you two!" Ino's eyes darted across the screen to where Sakura's face appeared. "Well, Haruno, what do you have to say for yourself?"

She licked her dry lips thinking of Gaara's coming in today for his STD screening. '_It was uncomfortable_,' he said. She blushed, her mind racing across excuses, but all she could think of was his screening.

"The sex is really great," Sakura blurted out and regretted it instantly.

"Oh," Ino's mouth rounded. Then, she smirked, leaning in, conspiratorially her voice dropped: "Tell us more."

"Love," Tenten lazily waved her hand at her husband, her eyes never leaving the screen. "Go buy me some ice cream. I wanna hear this with undivided attention."

Neji sighed and grabbed his keys.

Sakura smiled, tilting her head to the side. Her mind raced.

She was such a liar.

* * *

Namyio bent over her microscope, and Sakura twisted at her hands nervously. He was taking his time, checking his sample, his face unreadable. Finally, he sat back, and took off his glasses to pinch the bridge of his nose.

Sakura gulped.

"Go home," Namyio said with a tired voice and waved her away.

"Did I do something wrong, Namyio-sensei?" she forced the question out through clenched teeth.

She knew her work was good.

The thought 'I'm a good student' pounded in her head, it was in each breath intake. She was a good student. _She was good_. No one could ever take away from her: she was a good student. She buried her hands in her lab coat's pockets, her fists tight and shaking.

"Go home, sleep and change," Namyio grunted vaguely as he walked past her. Sakura blinked, her lips parted in surprise, the tension drained from her body.

"Come back tomorrow morning. I don't let my staff pull this many hours in a row."

Namyio sighed and looked over the shoulder of an intern.

"Where are you at on your work?" he asked in his brisk whisper and the intern stammered back his answer.

Sakura bowed even if he was already turned away from her.

"Thank you, Namyio-sensei. I'll see you tomorrow."

Sakura allowed herself a small smile. _She was good_.

"One last thing..." his voice startled her when she reached the door.

Steeling herself, Sakura glanced back at him.

His blue gaze was dull and cold.

"Tell Gaara-sama you handle a microscope better than he ever did," he paused and cursed softly: "That punk."

Sakura bowed her head, her smile dying on her lips. Cold realization spread across her body. It was _him_, again and always.

He defined her now.

Sakura walked down the hallway, her fists aching, fingers spreading and curling by her side. Her lips disappeared in a thin line by the time she pushed past the secured doors out of the wet labs.

Angrily, she pressed the button of the elevators at the end of the hallway.

She was most definitely not going to be a damsel in distress.

"I'm handling it," Sakura whispered to her blurry reflection in the doors of the elevator. "He's not. I am." she added because she knew no one else would listen, but herself.

* * *

Gaara got home late, angry.

He kicked off his shoes in frustration, stretching his back, tension building behind his eyes. Gritting his teeth, he replaced them back in their place on the shoe rack. He straightened her shoes.

'That Orochimaru...' he swore inwardly.

He had disappeared, cancelling on a few of their meetings. The board of directors all wore poker faces in the wake of his last business venture.

He put on his slippers and opened the lights in the kitchen.

Gaara had wanted to save them all, all the employers of that little company, but they were still aboard a sinking ship. His investors were displeased, disappointed, supporting their claims with figures Gaara now knew by heart. A large deficit. A gaping hole that he had bought off because the term 'family business' crushed him.

All families deserved to be saved.

Frustrated, Gaara tore his tie from his neck.

There was a note written in pink scribbles on the kitchen counter. 'Pink ink how ridiculous', he thought as he turned the note toward him: "Thank you for the chicken!" He glanced at the sink and scowled at the piles of dishes there.

His anger stabbed back at his ribcage, buzzing on the surface of his skin.

Gaara unbuttoned his collar as he walked upstairs to the bedroom. Quickly, he changed out of his suit and put on his work-out clothes. He pestered her. He pestered Orochimaru. He pestered the other directors who had already chosen their side.

He stared hard at the ceiling, stilling, icy steel, and burning, churning anger. It was easier when he didn't care. It was easier when he hadn't decided to take over his father's place and do things differently. It was easier before he changed.

Gaara moved slow, watching his hands, watching his step, out of the bedroom, down the hall. Blood hammered his skull.

As he went back downstairs, he pinched his lips at the kitchen. He would take care of the dishes when he was calm. He roughly opened the door to the basement and grunted.

The light was on.

He went down the stairs, all of his stiffening at the new wave of anger that gripped him, viciously. It soaked him through, a permanent mark on him. It would be so easy to let the monster on a rampage.

Breathing carefully, he wrapped his hands with tape, then slipped on his boxing gloves. He felt the first punch through his core, the chains holding up the punching bag shuddered noisily, and a part of his head cleared. He moved, swiftly around the swinging bag, hitting it again and again, until all of his loosened.

The washing machine beeped, breaking his concentration.

He felt the floor once more under his feet.

He felt his pants, his heart, the ache in his joints.

Reality came back to him by wave, but the anger was gone. He felt nothing lurking at the back of his mind.

He lowered his hands.

Gaara blinked, wiping at his sweaty face with his forearm. He panted glancing at the end of the hallway toward the laundry room. Sakura must have forgotten the clothes. Gaara roughly removed his gloves and put them on a bench. He walked to the laundry room.

He pushed open the door and startled at the sight of Sakura sleeping there, on the couch.

She slept, curled in a ball, her left hand under her cheek. Her pale face gleamed in the hot yellow light filtering through the curtains. Various textbooks and notebooks surrounded her, some open, some closed. Chaos.

Gaara rolled his head back, stretching his tensed neck. He pressed his eyelids shut and pinched the bridge of his nose for a moment. Was there then no end to her?

Gaara moved across from her as silently as he could, stepping over her notes and textbook. The washing beeped again. He winced, silently lowering the laundry basket to the floor.

His jaw locked painfully when he tried to pry open the washing machine's door without waking her up.

He bent down to retrieve the wet clothes, and Sakura stirred. She rose up from the couch, rubbing her eyes.

"Gaara-sama," Sakura growled, her head cocked to the side, still half-asleep.

"Go back to sleep, upstairs," he whispered and resumed emptying the machine. "I'll take care of the clothes."

"The clothes..." she repeated vaguely and scratched her arms yawning. Her eyes focused, then widened and jumped to her feet.

Paper ripped.

The textbook she had on her lap crashed on the floor.

"Oh my god, how long have I slept?" she rambled and bent down to gathered her notes. "Is this tomorrow?" she talked faster as she piled up her notebooks and textbooks. "Oh my god, I'm late."

"One cycle is about one hour," Gaara said. The wraps around his hands were soaked through. "We aren't tomorrow."

"Oh, right," Sakura mumbled and her shoulders sank with relief.

She bit at her below lip, and she moved more slowly now, half in a daze, picking up wrinkled loose sheets of paper. She pressed the pile to her chest.

Gaara stood up again holding the laundry basket.

They stared at each other, but the tension built as she stood straighter. Gaara spread his fingers carefully. They hurt. She hurt. He could see it now.

"Go to sleep," Gaara said softly. "Upstairs."

Sakura shook her head, and there was a crude stiffness to the position of her body, a coldness in her eyes. Her arms tightened around her things. Theirs edges dug in her stomach.

She glared at him.

"Did you call him?" Sakura asked icily and she thrusted out her chin.

Gaara tilted his head to the side, frowning.

"Who?"

"Namyio-sensei," she spat and her voice wobbled with fury. "He mentioned you."

Gaara looked away, laughing humourlessly.

"I haven't talked to him in years."

"Well, he said to tell you," Sakura paused, swallowing hard, snarling openly now. Her voice grew louder, stiffer, amplified in the small room. "I handle a microscope better than you."

His lips curling in an amused cold grin, Gaara nodded at the pile of textbooks and notes in her arms.

"I'm not surprised. Unlike me, you seem to read the assigned material."

Sakura blinked in surprise, struggling to find the right words now. Gaara waited. He wondered what it was about them that made it so hard for them to understand each other.

"You... You were in med school," she said slowly.

"Briefly," Gaara smirked, but his expression appeared to float over his features, never sinking in.

"You quit?"

Her eyes widened, and Gaara stepped toward her, lowering his face to level his gaze to hers. His eyes gleamed with mischief, his face cut lined with shadows and scars. Sakura gulped, more questions bubbling up inside her.

"They kicked me out."

Gaara stood straight, vaguely amused by the confusion and the shock playing across her face. His chest shook with silent laughter.

"Why?" Sakura blushed at outrage she felt, the amusement he felt. They clashed and clashed, and she was exhausted because of it.

"Because I didn't read the assigned material, and I didn't bother to show up for half my classes."

"How charming," she said dryly, and she failed to imagine where she would be if things had been as easy for her.

Her head hummed, hot with anger.

Gaara merely shrugged, his gaze darkening, never leaving hers.

"Namyio-sensei can tell you whatever he likes, but I didn't call him. Even if I did, he doesn't do favourites," Gaara narrowed his eyes at her, ferocious and amused. "But he's a liar. You could never beat me in microbiology. Those were the only classes I actually attended."

Sakura gripped the laundry basket he still held, her neck reddening.

"I'll take care of it," she said stiffly.

Gaara cocked his head to the side, observing her.

"Are you angry?" his softened voice gave her goosebumps.

"I'm-" Sakura bit her lip and shook her head. She didn't know what she was. She was inflating, deflating, at each turn, at once fuller and more empty than she had ever been. A look, a whisper, a new article about her, they all pulled, rattled at her differently, stretching her thin. Erasing her.

He erased her.

"I'm many things," Sakura continued vaguely, the back of her throat throbbing. She couldn't look away from the ring on her finger. Still, firmly, she pulled at the laundry basket, but he didn't let go, his expression once more unreadable.

"Like what?" Gaara asked flatly.

"I'm sick and tired and being gawked at, and I'm angry that everything is so... so..." Sakura stumbled over the wrong words, she stammered the right ones.

"So what?"

The harshness of his voice gave her pause. Her arms felt back to her sides. They curled into fists. The harshness of his gaze taunted her. _Say it. Say it!_

"So fucking easy for you," Sakura said flatly. "For you and your clans and tribes and what-not."

She panted noisily, but he didn't flinch.

"Just ignore it."

"Oh, wow, thanks for the support," she said sarcastically, and she was flowing once more, gestures and words. "If only, I had thought of that."

"They have been gawking at me since I was 11," Gaara replied roughly. "When you are with me, they will gawk and whisper. Don't mind it."

"When I'm with you?" Sakura shouted, startling them both. They stiffened, mirroring each other, their chests heaving.

Suddenly, she couldn't stop. Her chest couldn't expand any more to withhold everything. Boiling, it snaked out, her fury, through the cracks of her. The cracks of them.

"I'm branded by your name! All they see when they look at me is _**you**_. I'm in the fucking newspaper because I took the bus. Can you imagine? They didn't even use my name in the article. I'm just your poor wife on the bus. You must be already sick and tired of me. _Boo hoo_."

Gaara frowned.

"Why didn't you buy a car? I left you all the information, so you could."

Sakura laughed dryly and ran a hand through her hair. She hated that she felt like her feeling didn't matter when she was with him.

"This isn't the point," she said and he looked at her strangely. She hated that she felt invisible.

"What's your point, then? What do you expect from me?"

They stilled, her pants slowing, the silence eating at them equally. They constantly stopped at the same latent question: "_Who are we to each other?_"

"A pat," Sakura said blankly.

"What?"

"A pat on the back."

Gaara lowered the laundry basket on top of the washing machine. They stared at each other, haltered, awkward.

Then, Gaara reached for her arm and pulled at her toward him. She staggered forward.

"What are you-" Sakura shouted her voice muffled by his shirt.

"I don't think you need a pat," Gaara whispered.

Sakura breathed heavily against him, her heart beating violently against his ribcage. Hesitantly, he pressed his cheek to the side of her head. It felt wrong, his too long limbs flailing helplessly around her, her too small frame wetly slipping through him.

"I really don't know... what I'm doing," he whispered and his lips brushed against her pink locks.

He released her arm, his arm moving to circle her waist instead.

Her nails dug into him.

'_Was that better_,' he meant to ask. '_D__o we__ fit now?_'

She shuddered.

She exploded.

She cried noisily.

She beat at his chest, and he winced, absorbing the impact. Absorbing her. His arms tightened around her. Now, they fitted; raw angles, and muffled screams. He closed his eyes, fingers holding her head in place.

'_I understand anger_,' he wanted to tell her again, but somehow, he couldn't when she was this loud. This angry.

When she calmed down, Sakura gently pushed back against his chest. He let her, watching her face, tentatively letting his arms slide to her waist. She looked at his wrinkled and moist shirt.

"Take it off," she muttered tiredly, her eyes rimmed with red. "I'll wash it."

He stopped her hand, his eyes carefully searching her face. His grip grew firmer. Her face was pale, blotched, her eyes dull.

"Do you feel better?"

Sakura shrugged, twisting her wrist out of his grip. His skin burned her. After all, this was now, but what about tomorrow when the circle would begin all over again? When they would be back to tiptoeing around each other, misaligned lives tangled in a mess?

She was tired of feeling like she lived on borrowed time.

"We never discussed it... what would happen after." Sakura muttered.

"After what?"

"After you're done needing me," her lips twitched into a laconic smile. "After you're done needing this marriage."

"I don't sign things lightly, Sakura," Gaara said her name firmly, like she was steel, more solid than she felt. She stared back at him, his stare frank and ablaze, her skull pounding with her quickening heartbeat.

"This isn't a short-term arrangement."

She licked her dry lips.

"What if you want to go back to her?" she said with an extinguished voice.

Borrowed time. Borrowed life.

"I don't sign things lightly," Gaara repeated and he towered over her, his face drawn, darkening. "We are never getting a divorce," he articulated each word as if he was addressing her formally.

Then, he walked away, leaving the laundry basket behind. Leaving her stranded. Cold.

Gaara returned to his punching bag. There was the sound of velcro screeching, then precise _t__hump thump, _each hit at the centre of the punching bag. Each hit, at once distant and vibrating inside her. Sakura shakily picked up the laundry basket.

When Sakura walked in the other room, Gaara instantly stopped hitting the punching bag. Tensed, he waited, the room stuffy with their silence.

Sakura slowly climbed the stairs. Holding the laundry on her hip, she opened the door to the main room. He didn't move. Sakura closed the door behind her and she heard him hitting the punching bag once more. _Thump thump_.

She leaned back on the door, her vision blurred. _Thump thump_.

Sakura sank to the floor, setting the laundry basket to her side. _Thump thump, _her heart faltered.

She closed her eyes.

* * *

Rationally, Gaara knew they couldn't eternally avoid each other, but he held her and nothing had changed between them.

He still had this hole in his chest, this hunger in his stomach, and these baseless hopes in his head of something more.

Somehow, she had forced Kin between them, and his skin prickled at the thought of touching her again.

'_Sleeping at the hospital._' Sakura's text read. Gaara flipped his phone over his desk, and reached across from him for his glass of gin. He grimaced at its bitter taste, carefully inspecting the bottle. Shikamaru had brought Kankuro and Gaara a bottle from one of his trips back to Konoha.

For a genius, Shikamaru was terrible at finding thoughtful and decent gifts. Or he was too lazy to bother.

Gaara scowled and stood up from his desk, reluctantly taking the glass with him. The alcohol smoothed, dulled his thoughts as he looked over the city. His office overlooked the eastern side of Suna, the old town. The sun was low on the horizon, the city gleaming golden, parched, sparse swirls of sand whipping at the buildings. Gradually, the sun would set later and later. It was always easier to be an insomniac during summer because of the sun.

Gaara preferred watching over a city that couldn't sleep in the suffocating sun. He felt less alone when summer thinned the darkness, scorched red and golden pink.

"I've completed all my tasks for the day, Gaara-sama," Matsuri said from behind him, and Gaara's gaze briefly flickered to her uneven reflection in the tall windows before returning to the horizon. "If you don't need anything else, I'll be on my way."

Gaara spun the drink in his glass.

"Did you manage to work on the list I asked for?" he asked quietly.

Matsuri frowned for a moment, then tapped her forehead like she did when she was nervous.

"Oh, the list of your wife's things?"

"Hn."

Maybe Sakura would come home if he gave her things back, he thought desperately. Maybe, they could start over. His jaw twitched, the tattoo on his forehead itched, and he took a sip from his drink.

It wasn't his fault she was working.

It was his fault she was avoiding him.

Gaara half-turned back toward Matsuri. Her purse dangled in the crook of her elbow and she had changed out of her work clothes. His hand stiffened around his glass. She was dressed to go out, he realized.

"Yes, it's partially completed," Matsuri nodded. "Some things have already been shipped to the unit you rented."

"Send me a digital copy."

"Right away, Gaara-sama."

"Tomorrow, Matsuri," he said before she could return to her desk. "It's late and you clearly have other plans."

Matsuri's shoulders sank in relief, and she bowed her head in thanks, her cheeks hot. She turned to leave, wetting her lips, hesitated, then turned back toward him.

"Gaara-sama, if I may..." she squeaked out and let the words dangled.

Her face flushed deeper under Gaara's piercing gaze.

"What is it?"

"Maybe I should book a table somewhere for your wife and you," Matsuri swallowed hard. "Soon."

"Why soon?" Gaara asked quietly after a moment.

"Gaara-sama, if I may..." Matsuri flinched.

His face hardened.

"Out with it, Matsuri."

Matsuri pinched her lips and straightened her shoulders. Determination shone in her dark gaze.

"It's late and you're still here. The same as yesterday, the same as the day before," she stared at him, her voice wobbling, her knees locking. "This isn't on your schedule, Gaara-sama. I don't know why you're avoiding your wife, but I think you should take her out and buy her jewelry. Show her you care."

Gaara turned back toward the city.

"Hn."

"And you should apologize about throwing her stuff away," Matsuri added quickly, her gaze trailing on the clear liquid in his glass.

She had never seen him drink at the office before.

"What makes you think I didn't apologize?"

Gaara already knew the answer. '_Because I'm me._' Because he was scarred by someone who pressed a knife to his back. Because there was too much blood on his fists for atonement. Because, because, there was always the monster lurking.

Clenched fists, seeking fights, too little love for himself, for others.

He wished he was someone else.

He wished he was someone _more_.

"Goodnight, Gaara-sama," Matsuri said, ignoring his question, and bowed.

Gaara took another sip from his drink, bitter and dulling. His gaze aimlessly followed the movements of cars and people. Those, he understood, left-right, all timed. When people were closer, movements were too small, too contained, more lies than truth.

He downed the glass in a gulp, wincing.

* * *

Two days later, Gaara was back where his wedding had started: his cousin's jewelry store.

The air conditioning was blasting by the front door of the jewelry store, barely shifting the suffocating air in the back room. Gaara narrowed his eyes at Deidara sprawled on the couch next to his. He played with his monocular loupe, his blond hair messy, half-hiding his face.

"What?" he grumbled. "Am I getting in all the jewelry-rejecting fun? I told you not to come back if you were going to be this difficult about a chick. Most grooms walk out of here in 30 minutes tops."

"Hn."

Heavy maroon curtains surrounded them, the room designed in a traditional modern touch. The couches were thin, hand-braided, like the cushion. Dates and coffee mugs were set on an engraved disc of cooper that served as a coffee table.

"Gaara-sama?" a voice prompted Gaara, and he set his gaze back on the jewellery.

Deidara groaned deeply.

The rings and bracelets and lockets, they had brought out for Gaara to look at, all looked the same to him. They shone, dully or brightly, silver, gold and white gold. He ground his teeth, his face hardening. This was a waste of time.

"This doesn't do either?" the assistant jeweller asked coldly, his lips curled up in a stiffening polite smile. His gloved hands clenched more tightly around each other.

Gaara glared at Deidara.

"I've already looked at this."

Deidara yawned and stretched his arms above his head, waving Gaara off.

"Of course, it doesn't fucking do, huh," Deidara said with sarcasm and reached for one of the dates on the table. "The man has no taste, just like Sasori."

Gaara's jaw twitched.

"Where's my cousin?"

Deidara covered his mouth with his hand to spit out the pit of the date.

"Away on business," he replied and dropped the pit in a jar on the table. Deidara then waved at the assistant. "Bring that back too, huh. The punk can't appreciate fine art, it's all wasted on him."

Gaara briefly closed his eyes. Sasori and Deidara's friendship had always made little sense. Sasori was a blunt man of a few words, while Deidara acted like a delinquent, dressing and speaking informally like a college boy. They co-owned the jewelry store together, arguing more often than agreeing, but somehow it worked.

"What about watches?" Gaara asked and pinched the bridge of his nose.

Deidara rolled his eyes and snapped his fingers at his assistant. The young man bowed and disappeared once more behind the curtains.

"Ugh. Is this for your wife or a younger cousin?" Deidara shook his head and clicked his tongue. "Speaking of bad taste, when is Temari going to come and let us fix her up with a real ring? No offence, but your old woman's ring is just outdated. Dreadful stuff."

"Shut up," Gaara hissed darkly.

Deidara grinned and moved to clap his back. Gaara's glare stopped him mid-track, and he shrugged and huffed.

"Y'all have the same glare in your backward family." Deidara rubbed his hands together, his smile sharp as his assistant lowered a velvet tray containing watches. "Now pick something. I've other things to do, huh."

With disinterest, Gaara gazed at the watches.

Deidara snapped his fingers in front of his face.

"OI! Pay attention, punk. This isn't a thrift store, you can't just browse for free," Deidara pointed at the first model. "This is tempered steel with copper which gives it a nice reddish colour. Matches your hair if you're into that."

"No one is into that, Deidara," Gaara said icily.

Deidara threw up his hands in a vague defensive gesture, smiling crookedly.

"Fine, fine, but these are excellent models, and you know it."

Deidara watched him like a hawk as Gaara looked over the models. His gaze stopped on a silver model. The numbers shone on a pearly white.

Deidara followed his gaze. He slipped his monocular loupe back in front of his eyes and picked up the watch with gloved hands.

"Ah, yes, that one is great," he mused out loud. "Doesn't exactly go "boom", but it's quartz and all the jazz. It's light too," he removed his monocular and lowered the watch back on its velvet pillow. "It's decent for one of Sasori's stuff."

"Wrap it up."

"Finally! Fuck, I'm starving," Deidara motioned for his assistant to take the watch. "Quickly, before he changes his mind," he added in a hiss and stood up.

Gaara turned away from both men and got his ringing phone out of his pocket.

"Sabaku-," Gaara started

"I know you're a Sabaku, little bro," Kankuro cut off with a grumble. "Listen, I received a call from a friend from Konoha. Orochimaru is meeting with the Uchiha group. Did you know that?"

"Hn. I guess Orochimaru wants us to know," Gaara exhaled and motioned for Deidara to give him the bill. "He disappeared two days ago with Kabuto."

"This time, it's different," Kankuro said curtly.

"Why?" Gaara switched his phone to his other ear to remove his wallet from his breast pocket. "It's Orochimaru's favourite sport coming after me. Our new product is due to hit the shelves next week. He was bound to do something."

"Kin was with them."

Gaara lowered his gaze to his watch, counting the seconds. Each tick of the hand drained him of everything. Time crushed, bled him dry. Time was a hook, a noose; it was the boxing ring he never left, unscratched, his fists pulsing with the punches he threw. It was the blood he spilled.

They lied.

Time didn't heal.

"Take care of it," Gaara whispered. "I'm going to see if I can fly out tonight to check on the new product directly at the factory."

It was time to care of the small family company he had saved out of near bankruptcy. It was time to take care of family. He narrowed his eyes, one finger tapping on his watch. He held it up to Deidara. In reply, he cursed loudly and the cash register rang, dull and blunt.

"Already on it," Kankuro growled. "One last thing, Gaara?"

"Hn."

Gaara held up his credit card to the jeweller assistant. The young man looked at him, then at Deidara, before bowing and taking the card.

"Make nice with the missus. We don't need another shit storm," Kankuro's voice was kept light, but it sank into him burdening and unflinching.

Gaara ran a hand through his hair, sensing Deidara's curious gaze on him. He scowled at him. Even in the privacy of his home he wouldn't have admitted to his brother that Sakura had already mentioned divorce twice.

"I'm buying her jewelry," Gaara whispered dully.

"Uh uh, is that so?" Gaara could hear Kankuro's grin and relief. "It's a watch, isn't it?"

"I'm hanging up now."

Kankuro's booming laugh didn't stop until Gaara hung up. Even then, it persisted as an echo. In the few happy childhood memories they had, there was always Kankuro's laughter.

He brushed his hair out of his eyes, his fingers stilling before they reached his tattoo. He lowered his hand.

_Love_.

_Family_.

It was time to go.

* * *

At six o'clock, Gaara straightened his sleeve over his cuff links and rebuttoned the first button of his suit. Stiff and haggard, he closed his desk lamp. He grabbed his briefcase on the way out. He felt uncomfortable following his schedule now. Something he couldn't grasp was trailing behind him, hovering around him, never fully in reach.

Something was missing now.

_Love. Family. Home._

He shook his head.

_Her._

Gaara stopped at Matsuri's desk. The paperwork was laid out in careful piles, a post-it of different colours over each pile, while the rest of her desk was covered crowded plush animals and toys her boyfriend regularly brought her.

His jaw twitched.

She typed faster on her computer, straightening her back. She avoided looking at him, a private smile tugging at her lips.

He cleared his throat.

"Did you manage to book a flight out for tonight?" he asked roughly.

Matsuri spun her chair toward him, bowing her head before grabbing his printed-out plane tickets and his itinerary off the corner of her desk. She held up the pages with both hands.

"Here you go, Gaara-sama. Have a safe flight."

Nodding to himself, Gaara carefully placed the sheets in his briefcase. He stared at her hard.

"I'm going home."

"Yes, Gaara-sama."

"Don't look so satisfied," he grumbled as he passed by her desk, and he heard her yelp and jump up to her feet, fumbling, almost tripping over her own feet.

The elevator was already on the floor. Its door opened smoothy the second Gaara pressed the button to call it.

Matsuri bowed quickly, her face burning.

"Good evening, Gaara-sama."

There was laughter in her voice.

He nodded in acknowledgement.

"Good evening."

Once the doors of the elevator slid closed, Gaara numbly loosened the tie around his neck.

He knew going home would change nothing. She wouldn't be there. They would still be estranged.

'_What if_,' his thought spun out of reach. He didn't want to hope for anything.

Gaara drove from his office to his house in the usual time. He parked the car in the driveway, and stayed there. His hand tightened on the shift gear, then relaxed it completely. He turned off the engine.

The contour of the blinds gleamed in deep orange. The light was on in the living room and kitchen.

Gaara pushed his door open carefully and extracted himself from the car, pebbles screeching and spilling under his foot. Out of habit, he glanced at his watch as he grabbed his computer bag from the back seats.

He was on time, but the buzzing, the yearning, was back, crawling under his skin.

She was here. She was finally here. Home.

Gaara glanced at his watch again as he made his way to the porch. He punched his security code and entered the house. He frowned at the shoes carefully set aside in front of the step.

They were deep purple high heels.

Gaara pressed a fist to the wall as he bent down and removed his shoes, his insides turned to ice. He heard her shift, imagined her carefully posing, arranging each limb carefully like this was war. She always treated formal discussions like it was war.

"What are you doing here?" Gaara called out icily and flinched at the sound of his voice.

His jaw set, he stepped into the kitchen.

Temari stared at him, blowing steam over a cup of tea nested between her hands. She sat on of the high stool, her back straight and her face carefully blank. Her dirty blond hair was pulled tight in a bun.

"Never late, are you?" she replied with an empty smile and set her tea cup back on the counter.

"You're not-" Gaara clasped his mouth shut, the muscles of his jaw working painfully as he ground his teeth. "Never mind."

"I'm not what? I'm not the one you wanted to see?" Temari asked coolly and tilted her head to the side in a disapproving gesture she knew he hated. "Tough week, I presume, for you to be this rude to someone who changed your diapers."

"I didn't expect you, no. You usually call first," Gaara said, ignoring her snide comment.

His gaze darted from the sink, to the refrigerator's door. There was nothing in the sink, and his note was still unanswered. His nostrils flared.

Limply, Gaara pulled back one of the high stool, but didn't sit down. They locked eyes, too cold, too stubborn, to yield first. Her purple mouth trembled, her matching nails drumming unpleasantly on the kitchen counter.

"Well, I came here to ask you: Are you free in two weeks?"

Gaara scowled at his sister.

"What for?"

"My wedding."

His face darkened.

"I hate Shikamaru," Gaara grumbled and released the back of the stool. Swiftly, he moved to start the kettle.

He needed to occupy his hands. His killer hands. His punching-until-you're-down-and-bleeding hands.

"Good thing it's me marrying him then," Temari replied coolly and her tone stopped him. "I left tea for you in the teapot."

Gaara felt himself nod slowly. His mind numb, he filled a cup for himself. None of them touched their tea. They stared at each other over the kitchen counter, the same shadows pulsing on their faces under the ceiling lights.

"Is it making you happy?" Gaara asked quietly.

Temari's shoulders shook with humourless laughter.

"Why do you think I've stuck around for so long?"

His pale eyes flashed. '_He looks like a mutinous child_,' Temari couldn't help but think and froze expecting the old tantrums in spite of herself.

"Because you want to be the wife of a mayor," he said tonelessly.

"Oh, for God's sake! Who told you that?" Temari rolled her eyes, shaking her head in dismay.

"Does it matter?" Gaara looked at her, his jaw clenched.

Temari thrust out her chin, her eyes gleaming with the same burning fury.

"No, I suppose it doesn't," she replied coldly.

Silence stretched. Gaara merely stared at her, revealing nothing. Temari pinched her lips.

"So, are you coming or not?" she snapped and took a gulp of her tea.

Gaara crossed his arms over his chest, leaning his hip on the counter.

"Who's giving you away? Kankuro or me?"

"Kankuro," she sighed, but the calculated coldness never left her eyes. She knew better than not to expect resistance from any of her brothers. "He threw such a fit, that it was the only way I knew he would forgive me. Actually, Kiba and Kankuro are both giving me away."

'_What about you?_ _What will it take for you to forgive me? For us to be brother and sister again?_'

Gaara set his jaw, his arms still crossed over his chest. He refused to look at her.

"Why are you really here?" he mumbled.

"Excuse me?"

"You're wearing the uncomfortable heels," he said in a slow voice as if he was musing aloud.

Temari slammed her open palm on the counter. His gaze slowly shifted to her face. The mutinous look in his eyes gleamed once more, and his lips curled in a cold smile. '_I got you_,' the smile seemed to say, and she suppressed a shiver.

"Why haven't you called me?" Temari erupted and all of her shook as she shouted. "I had to learn from obaasan that your little wife was going around making visits to elders. I'm an elder!"

"We haven't done that..."

Rebuffed, Temari gaped at him.

"Obaasan said-" she faltered.

"We planned to, but she... her schedule changed." Gaara shrugged lightly.

Temari snorted. It used to reassure him when she snorted at a time when none of them ever smiled or laughed. Now, it came late, halfheartedly, as if she was one more stranger in his life. Gaara looked up at the ceiling, his eyes narrowing.

"Konoha is far," he said through clenched teeth. He had calculated the distance. 3H47min per plane. "We belong here, Kankuro, you and I. Together. Here." With each word, Temari, once more, saw him as an angry child.

Her gaze drifted to the refrigerator's door where his last note was left unanswered. 'Chicken or pork?' Uncomfortably, Gaara considered moving in her line of sight. Instead, he froze.

This was still war, no armistice in sight.

"You're unbelievably naïve sometimes, Gaara," Temari said with a tired voice, and she rubbed her forehead as if she was fighting a headache. "Tell me, little bro, have you not thought that perhaps Sakura will want to go back to Konoha someday?"

Gaara flinched momentarily. Temari glanced away. She pretended to scratch at a dirty spot of on the counter with her nails.

"I'm not leaving Suna," Gaara said quietly.

Temari shrugged, noncommittal.

"So, am I putting you down for one or two?" she asked evenly.

"Two," Gaara answered mechanically, and Temari stood up.

She smoothed her pencil skirt.

"Hopefully, her schedule won't change meanwhile," she added coolly.

"Please forward the details to Matsuri."

"I will."

Stiff and formal, tiptoeing around emotions, they faced each other.

"Well, good night," Temari cleared her throat and grabbed her purse off the sofa.

"I'll get you your honeymoon," Gaara said softly as she walked past him.

Temari looked at him, hesitated, then nodded quickly. His face didn't change, but his fists clenched and unclenched by his sides. She grazed his sleeve.

"Nowhere humid or too cold..." Temari trailed off dryly.

She released him.

"I know," Gaara said, and he reached across the counter to retrieve her tea cup.

He started washing it in the sink, his face bent over his task, pale and closed.

Temari grounded her teeth. '_Are you okay? Are we okay?_' she asked inwardly.

"Tell Sakura, she's a bridesmaid," Temari said tartly instead and closed the door behind her.

Gaara stopped the water and gripped the edge of the counter, bent over the sink. He breathed out heavily, his chest uncomfortable. His head felt hot. He tore his tie from his neck. He squeezed his eyes shut, listening to the sound of Temari's car driving away.

He opened his eyes and sought the clock above the bookcase.

It was time to go.

Gaara put the jewelry box on the kitchen table. He tapped it with his fingers, as if to ensure it was truly there. His fingers reluctantly left the box. He hesitated, faltered, then reached in his pocket for the key to the storage unit.

He wrote her a brief note, leaving the jewelry box and key on top of it.

His fingers buzzed as he went upstairs and started packing his suitcase for his business trip.

It was too late for Sakura to come home now.

* * *

It was too late.

The treatments were burning her away, drop by drop, peeling her raw. Chiyo alternated between anger and drowsiness, an itch under her skin that couldn't be stifled. She leaned her head back against her chair, holding up her hand to Nozomi who gave her pain killers and a glass of water. She shivered, cold sweat sliding down her back.

Chiyo knew all the side effects of chemotherapy, but she still thought maybe she would be the exception, fight the odds. Her chest shook with dry laughter.

"Do I look dead, yet?" Chiyo cackled and gulped down the pills with a swallow of water.

She squeezed her eyes shut as Nozomi, her executive assistant, put the glass of water back on the tray she carried.

"You should rest, Chiyo-sama," she replied carefully.

"Where's Sakura?" Chiyo growled and threw her arm out as if to sweep all her concern away. "I asked you to fetch her tonight."

"She's already doing a shift, Chiyo-sama."

Chiyo frowned and sat up, her vision swaying from the rapidity of her movement. It settled on the round face of Nozomi. Her thin brows were knitted together, her forehead marked by age.

"She was supposed to come to the house yesterday to meet us elders, but Gaara said she needed to work. How many hours is she doing? Pull her schedule," she grumbled and gripped her desk to pull her chair toward it. "Wouldn't be the first bride trying to avoid responsibility."

Nozomi smiled tightly and bowed. She retreated back to her desk.

Chiyo rested her eyes listening to Nozomi moved around her desk and printed out Sakura's schedule. She held up her hand again for the sheet of paper. With her hand trembling, she put on her reading glasses.

She froze.

"What in god's name is this?" she shouted and waved the paper noisily.

"It's-"

"You call the whole surgery team in now," Chiyo snapped.

"Now?" Nozomi breathed out and stared at her.

Chiyo's face hardened, her eyes gleaming with fury.

"This is my hospital, and those painkillers are kicking in. I want everyone in." She stood up on locked knees, her breath coming out in a hiss. Nozomi pinched her lips, but wouldn't move. "_Now,_" Chiyo repeated with a snarl.

Nozomi bowed and walked out of the room quickly.

Chiyo's trembling hand wrinkled the sheets of paper. She breathed out heavily, swallowed air coming in her nose. She forced her hand to release the paper sheets. Instead, she grabbed the phone and quickly dialled the extension number of Dr Namiyo Kirino.

"Chiyo-sama," Namiyo answered, sounding surprised, after the second ring.

Her hand involuntarily clenched the phone tighter.

"Come to my office right now and bring Sakura."

"Is something the matter, Chi-" he started carefully.

"I SAID NOW!" Chiyo bellowed and hung up savagely.

She sat back down, straight-back, a snarl curling back her lips, her hands linked over her midsection.

Now, she waited, regal and in pain.

She had fought for this seat. She had fought for power.

Chiyo stared hard at her diploma and awards lining the wall in from of her. She tried to draw strength from everything she could.

It was too late, but she wasn't dead yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Feedback, as always, is appreciated :))
> 
> Next update is in two weeks: March 21st. After that, I'll take a short break to work on other projects.


	8. Act Regal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a very long chapter. Enjoy! :)

There was no air, no movement in the room, but everything, everyone was cluttered.

Students and residents stood, crowded, the back of their knees bumping on the furniture, on another. Sakura stared hard at her joined hands, Namiyo in front of her. His back was straight, tensed, hiding the Director's desk from view.

For once, he filled the room. Sakura couldn't tell whether he was angry or terrified. From the moment, he had told her to stand up and follow him, he had moved like still waters, impenetrable, cold.

Sakura bit the inside of her cheek, and she dug her nails on the palm of her hands.

"You, you, and you go," Chiyo said abruptly as she pointed at wide-eyed residents and first year students. "You, too."

The director pointed them out relentlessly, her movements overreaching and rigid. Her words were clipped, but they dropped heavily, piercing the silence and rebuilding it.

Residents and attending physicians bowed, one after the other, and there was more and more room to breathe and move. It was worse.

The air buzzed with a deathly silence.

Sakura could feel her heart hammering each of her bones, everything tightening and tightening around her. Dark spots danced in front of her eyes as she stared harder at the carpet.

"You," Chiyo finally pointed at one of Sakura's classmates "Who are you again?"

Sakura turned her head, as a petite blonde who stepped forward with a small bounce. Ayano appeared calm, even amused, and Sakura squeezed her eyes shut lowering back her head. Ayano was part of one the most influential families in Suna politics. She always acted small and delicate, her manners polished.

"I'm Sunaga Ayano, Chiyo-sama," she smiled and bowed deeply.

"Who the hell assigned you to the surgery rotation?" Chiyo snapped and sharply tapped her knuckles on a spread sheet in front of her. "You aren't on the initial list."

Ayano blinked several times, taken back by the Director's tone. A smile curved once more her lips. and she shrugged almost, playfully.

Namiyo clicked his tongue reproachfully at her attitude and Sakura had to bite her lips hard not to burst out laughing at the anxiety building up, taut, aggressive, inside her. She was squeezed out of everything. Air, fear, and anger had snapped when she had entered the room, and she was left with nothing but with silence.

Chiyo's office felt like a minefield with Sakura firmly standing on several ticking ones. She was the epicentre, where Chiyo's last "you" would detonate.

"I received an email and-" Ayano tried with a light tone, but Chiyo held up her hand, interrupting her.

"Show it to me," Chiyo said roughly, her face hardening.

Paling, Ayano hesitated then took her phone out of her white coat. She unlocked the screen of her phone, her nail clicking against the screen as she retrieve the email. She then presented it to Chiyo with both hands, attempting one last innocent smile.

Chiyo dropped her reading glasses on the tip of her nose. After a moment, she dropped the phone on her desk and took off her glasses. Heavily, she leaned back on her seat, her hands crossed over her stomach.

"Natsuko-san, step forward."

Stiffly, she bowed.

"Chiyo-sama."

"The rest of the team, get out. Not you, Ayano!" She snapped when the blonde was about to move with the rest of the crowd.

She flushed, bright pink, and returned to her place with a sheepish smile.

Chiyo waited until Nozomi had closed the last of the other students and physicians had left. She licked her cracked lips.

"Do I look dead to you?" she said quietly and Sakura winced at her tone.

Natsuko attempted a short-lived nervous laughter.

"No, of course, Chiyo-sama, not."

"IT WAS A RHETORICAL QUESTION!"

Natsuko opened her mouth, but no sound came out. Her face shone waxy, completely white, frozen.

"How dare you reassign students? Huh?" Chiyo got up to her feet and pressed a finger to the spread sheet. "_**I**_ pick the students and the order of rotations with the dean according to grades. Did you speak to the dean after I did, huh?"

Natsuko didn't move.

"You're fired. Effective immediately. Get the hell out of my sight."

"Chiyo-sama!" Natsuko cried out, desperately. "Sakura was a poor fit for the team. Clearly-"

"Clearly," Chiyo spoke above her, her tone chilling. "You don't care about hierarchy and process and even less team spirit. Sakura isn't a resident. She doesn't need to be a good fit! She just needs to learn! Going behind my back like that... Tch."

Chiyo panted and waved her hand at Ayano.

"And for your dimwit cousin of all people!"

They both gaped at her, the others startling.

Chiyo stared at Natsuko, breathing hard, disgusted.

"I wouldn't trust you with my life, why would I trust you with any patient's life?" Chiyo straightened her suit jacket with shaking hands and sat down back on her chair.

She motioned toward the door, panting, her face flushed with sweat and anger.

"Security is already waiting for you outside," she added tonelessly. "Get out."

Chiyo turned her gaze toward Ayano just as Natsuko exited the room, her face blank. She didn't bow. The blonde blinked rapidly gazing after her cousin.

"Where were you assigned beforehand?" Chiyo asked roughly and pushed Ayano's phone across the desk toward her. "Family medicine or somewhere else I had no knowledge of?"

"I was in Family medicine, Chiyo-sama," Ayano said quietly and retrieved her phone.

"You're headed back there after your two week suspension."

"Chiyo-sama, I-"

Chiyo erupted laughing and Ayano took a step back, blanching.

Sakura stiffened, and she felt Namyio do the same. Chiyo's high-pitched laughter rang uncomfortable, feral, and her wide eyes darted past them at her collection of diplomas and awards. Briefly, she looked devastated, her face shedding emotions, unstable, her jaw opened too wide.

She closed her mouth, the silence stretching, chaotic and raw.

"What is it with anyone of you opening your mouth to speak back to me? Do I look dead?" She knocked her knuckles on the desk. Her movement haltered, then her fist dropped on the desk, soundlessly, without force.

Sakura swallowed hard.

"It's not a coincidence you were the one reassigned," Chiyo continued, her lips pinched. She stared at her fist. Her skin was covered in deep blue veins dotted by aging spots.

It never bothered her before.

Death didn't bother her before she was dying.

"'With your family name and connections, you probably thought you could get away with it," she said, irritate. "When you come back from suspension, you'll meet with both the dean and me, and we'll decide whether we kick you out of the program."

Ayano paled and cocked her head to the side, her lips moving restlessly as if she were repeating the words to herself. When she still didn't move, Chiyo dismissed her with a sharp wave of the hand.

"Get out!"

'_Do I look dead_,' Chiyo wanted to scream endlessly. She felt dead. Her tongue was thick, dry, barely fitting in her mouth, and her vision swayed so easily. Her skin was flushed, but she was cold.

Nozomi closed the door after Ayano, and Sakura briefly closed her eyes.

"Namiyo!" Chiyo shouted and interlocked her fingers together to prevent her hands from shaking.

"Hai, Chiyo-sama." he bowed, his face unreadable, his tone levelled.

'_She's a sandstorm, and he's still water_,' the thought formed chaotically in Sakura's mind. Then, nothing.

"I'm surprised you didn't report this to me."

"I'll take full responsibility, Chiyo-sama," Namiyo bowed deeply. "I assumed Sakura was reassigned because something happened in surgery. My lab has been used in the past to straighten out troublemakers. I thought you had reassigned her. I apologize," he bowed again, stilling in the posture as he awaited the director's answer, and suddenly, Sakura was exposed.

She met Chiyo's dark gaze. It mercilessly bore through her.

"Sakura," Chiyo breathed out her name.

Sakura side-stepped and bowed.

"Chiyo-sama."

"You're suspended two weeks," Chiyo said coldly.

The floor swayed, her palms prickled. Sakura counted the seconds passing by, frozen in place.

"You chose not to speak up, so it shouldn't be too hard for you to shut your mouth now. I've told you this before: You need to learn to work with a team. You're not alone in this hospital, and you're not alone when you are providing care. You acted like this..." she pushed away the spread sheet and they scattered noisily.

Sakura watched some of the pages drifted off the desk, Chiyo's unwavering gaze still piercing through her.

"You acted like this whole mess only affected you. And working as you did... If you can't take of yourself, you can't take care of a patient. This is why I'm not going to let Namiyo-sensei take responsibility for you. You should have known better. Now, get out."

Sakura barely felt herself bow again.

Namiyo squeezed her shoulder, pushing her toward the door. That too, she barely felt it. She raised her head again, but Chiyo had spun her chair to face the windows.

Her eyes stung. Her head throbbed. Her chest was crushed.

Gently, Namiyo guided her outside of the office. Nozomi closed the doors after them without a word and returned to her desk. Her face was drawn, illuminated by the blue light of her computer screen. Sakura noted these details, absentmindedly.

"You thought I didn't know what it was like to be a misfit?" Namiyo asked and shook his head. "Chiyo-sama was harsh, but she was right."

Namiyo walked away, slowly, closer to his former self. His back bent as he held his hands behind his back.

Sakura watched him go, farther away from her former self. She forced herself to move toward the elevators.

She stopped.

Ayano met her eyes. She tapped her foot impatiently, her arms crossed over her chest. Sakura kept walking, unbalanced, numb. She pressed the button to call the elevator.

"This is all your fault," Ayano hissed and straightened her back.

"How?" Sakura asked blankly.

"What?"

Sakura mechanically turned her head toward her. Dully, she felt her neck's muscle stiffened, corded, contorted

She tried to see it, on her face, the impact of Chiyo's words. She tried to see the ravages of their sentences ricocheting, hammering against her skull. She tried to see it, on the face of a girl who already had everything, but still chose to take from others.

Nothing.

Her chest shook, drawing in breath. Nothing.

"What?" Ayano snapped again.

"It's funny because I thought if I don't say anything, it would make a difference to you and the others, but now, I see that it all means nothing," Sakura laughed dryly and ran a hand through her hair.

Lifelessly, her arm dropped back to her side and the elevator clang.

"The only difference is that you could have reassigned me to any department," Sakura continued, "and I would still have done a good job. Wherever you are, you are still a student who won't make it in a surgery residency with your worth alone."

Ayano reddened. Her small fists shook at her sides. Her face peeled like a mask, anger jerking, stretching her muscles until she was barely recognizable.

"You think you can speak to me like that?" Ayano panted.

"I think I can clock you right now," Sakura replied tonelessly and stepped in the elevator. "I'm Cinderella from the ghetto, remember? I'm not good with big words." She pressed the button to close the elevator's doors. "You should probably wait for the next elevator."

Ayano pinched her lips, her face drawn in, blanching with anger.

"You'll regret this."

The elevator doors slid shut.

Sakura opened her mouth. Silently, she screamed. There were four of her, reflected on each side of the elevator. Four of her screaming without words, without blame, ragged breath, dishevelled pink locks whirling in all directions.

'_I understand anger_,' Gaara's voice sneaked in the silence of her mind.

* * *

'_I understand anger._'

Sakura froze, between his voice and the director's voice, the world throbbed.

In the entrance of her house, she squeezed her eyes shut, her hand on the wall supporting her. Her nails scrapped the paint. She clumsily stepped out of her shoes and they thudded on the floor. She shook her head, pressing a cold hand to her forehead.

Numb, Sakura pushed her shoes to the side and stepped in the main room. Every room was dark.

She breathed out, shakily, relieved that she was alone.

'_You need to learn to work with a team. You're not alone in this hospital, and you're not alone when you are providing care._'

Sakura rubbed her arm, walking toward the refrigerator. She opened the door and stared blankly at the plastic containers neatly stacked. Milk, butter, other essentials. Nothing registered. She didn't know what she wanted.

"But I'm alone," she mumbled.

There was this voice in her head that whispered she didn't want to be alone, and there was this other voice, the stronger of the two, that didn't need anyone. Nothing had changed.

She didn't want anything.

Sakura startled when the refrigerator beeped loudly. She gasped for air, lost.

She slowly closed the door, holding the door handle tight. She leaned in, breathing shallow breath, lowering her forehead to the cool metal.

She didn't want to cry. She didn't want to be cry-baby Sakura. She didn't want to be herself, at all, for a short while. She wanted to lie down and wake up as someone else.

'But I've already moved away from home. Away from my past,' she sneered inwardly. 'How many times, will I have to reinvent myself?'

With a shuddering breath, Sakura let go of the door handle and turned around. She was about to walk upstairs to her bedroom, when she glimpsed at a black box on the table. With hesitant steps, she drew nearer. A key was set neatly atop the box and the box itself was atop a note.

She laughed quietly, spinning the note toward her with two fingers. Nothing had changed. They were worlds apart.

_'_ _I'm away on business for a few days. A cleaning lady will come every day._

_The watch is for you._

_They key opens a storage unit with your things._

_Temari wants you to be a bridesmaid._

_Call Matsuri if you need anything._'

Sakura lightly touched the key, then the box.

'_You should have known better._'

'_I understand anger._'

She balled the paper.

How could she have been so blind?

In frustration, she turned to aim at the recycling bin. The ball of paper missed and ricochetted across the kitchen, near the sliding doors leading to the garden.

The bin was overflowing with notes.

Sakura approached it, choking on more thoughts, on more emotions. They spun and spun as she bent down and dug a hand in the crumbled notes in the recycling bin. She took them out, barely breathing, split open, smoothing them one by one.

'_Where are you coming home?_' Gaara had wrote and rewrote a dozen times. Most of the notes were incomplete, crossed out neatly, but they all asked the same thing. '_Where are you coming home?_'

'_You acted like this whole mess only affected you._'

Choking, she held her head, letting the notes bounced around her.

She gulped for air, her throat constricted.

Then, she took her phone out of her pocket and tried calling Gaara. Her fingers slid clumsily across the screen. Wet and blurry, swaying, the phone shook in her grasp. She touched her cheeks, her mouth stretched in the same silent scream. She screamed and screamed, inwardly.

She pressed the phone to her cheek, her vision as blurry.

It rang only once.

"_The person you're trying to reach is not available._"

The edge of her phone dug in her ear.

Sakura lowered her arm and hung up.

'_Now, I'm alone_,' she thought, and parts of her recoiled, hissing. Parts of her refused to have their walls, their protection, stripped away.

Especially not for a man.

* * *

Sakura didn't open the jewelry box.

She slept fitfully, on the couch, startling awake every hour or so, sometimes calling his name. She looked and grazed the key and the jewelry box. In her dreams. When she awoke. The key gleamed, bathed in cool moonlight, then in warm sunlight.

The morning rose and Sakura held the key once more above her eyes. She floated, she drifted. She had thought he had lied. She could barely explain to herself all everything she thought she knew, everything she had learned, researched, didn't seem to apply to marriage or him.

She had thought she understood him.

She reached for her phone and turned it over. No new messages. No new calls. She removed silent mode with a swipe of her fingers and turned on her back.

The phone vibrated on her midsection, then rang, shrill.

Sakura brought the phone to her face and frowned when she saw the caller ID. She bit her below lip, as it rang, and again, she wondered if she should avoid it. Avoid it all. The phone kept ringing, mercilessly. It stopped, then began again.

Sakura answered, but found she couldn't say anything. She held the phone to her ear, waiting for clarity, the right words.

'I'm angry at you.'

'You made a spectacle of me.'

"Where are you?" Chiyo barked and cackled. "Sleeping in next to Gaara, are you?"

"I'm home, I'm suspended-" she forced the words out, her insides twisted into tight knots.

"Yes, and you owe me hours of private session," Chiyo snapped, interrupting her. "Get yourself here. Now."

"Chiyo-sama!" Sakura stammered with a booming voice and sat up.

She paused. Her tongue thick in her mouth. Lead. She was lead. Her features sharpened in the light filtering through the curtains.

"You can't-" she started through gritted teeth.

"Ah yes, one last thing," Chiyo interrupted her again. "Have you heard from Gaara?"

"No," she said caught off guard. "He's away on business."

"That punk..." Chiyo snorted. "Whenever I can't reach him, he goes and does something stupid. Now, hurry up. I'm old, I can't wait all day. Tik tok. One day away from death."

She burst out laughing then, she was gone.

Sakura breathed heavily staring at her phone.

Now she had clarity.

Her mind had stopped screaming.

* * *

In Chiyo's office, they faced each other, without speaking, across the coffee table.

The leather of the chair was cool against Sakura's thigh. She had dressed in simple clothes, her hair pulled up in a messy bun atop her head. Her green eyes gleamed, sharp, directly meeting Chiyo's.

The old woman sighed.

"Are you going to sulk until the end of times?" Chiyo asked and blew the steam over her cup of tea.

"You didn't just punish me," Sakura said calmly. "You made an example of me."

She had recited the words endlessly on the couch after hanging up, then in the shower. In her head, on the bus ride. She had still expected the words to fail her.

Chiyo leaned back in her chair and stared at her, unreadable. Her cup clicked delicately against the saucer as she sipped her tea.

"You're smart enough to understand why," she said coolly.

Sakura clenched her jaw and her fists curled on her thighs.

"I don't want you to use me that way again, Chiyo-sama."

Grunting, Chiyo bent down and set the saucer with her teacup on the coffee table. She was used to veiled political games. Temari played her cards, fast, jealously holding them against her chest. She discarded them with voracious calculated patience. She built house cards to watch them crumble.

Sakura didn't play. She aimed and made direct hits, leaving her unprotected.

Chiyo shook her head. 'She'll have to learn. They'll eat her alive.'

"But I will," she hardened her voice, her face, and stared back at her. Sakura didn't look away. "Regardless of your relationship with my grandson, I would have used you, Sakura. You're too angry to see it, or maybe you don't believe me, but there are limits to what I can and cannot do. Even for you. Even for family. The world is full of vultures preying on weak old people."

"I know how it would have looked if you hadn't punished me…"

"But?"

Sakura glanced away.

"See? I had a choice, but I made the right one. Now, stop sulking, and start reading that MRI scan. You're behind in our private studies, and I haven't gotten all day."

Sakura pinched her lips, her face shaking as she tried to collect herself. She glanced back at her with the same openness, the same implacable gaze.

"I thought it would be enough to be a good student."

"Of course, it isn't!" Chiyo shouted and cackled, and Sakura bore the laughter without moving. "You have to be the best student. Don't you dare stop until you sit on that chair." She thrust her thumb toward her desk at the end of her office.

"Chiyo-sama…" Sakura persisted.

"Start reading that scan," Chiyo grumbled, but her face softened. "You must have noticed we don't do emotional conversations in this family."

She waved her hand at her teacup.

"And drink up. Don't make me waste perfectly good tea on you."

Sakura stared at the teacup.

"Atrophy to the medial temporal lobes, possibly due to neurodegeneration as in Alzheimer's," she said about the scan, then she drank.

Chiyo nodded.

"Keep going."

Sakura smiled with a hunger she had never allowed herself to have. She wanted it. The chair.

Someday, she wanted to sit in Chiyo's chair.

* * *

Gaara picked up his rent car one hour after he landed in Roran in the morning.

The wind flickered with red sand as he drove through the city. The city was surrounded by tall dunes, the tip of crooked towers and thin elongated buildings swaying in the wind. The Desert shone, red, sparkling under the rising sun.

Gaara turned up the radio, readjusting his grip over the wheel. His knuckles ached dully.

The city, the desert, they sank into him, his back burning up. Gaara tapped his left shoulder as if it to tame the beast tattooed across his back. But it was also a promise. 'Soon.' It had been a long time since he had wanted to fight. His hand fell back to the wheel, at the perfect angle.

Gaara sped up, changing lanes, putting distance between him and the heart of the city. The factory was in the outskirts of Roran, by one of the underground river, at the entrance of the desert.

He parked the car and leaned in over the wheel to appraise the building. He had only visited the factory once before purchasing it. The building was painted in soft yellow and orange colours and disappeared, a mirage, when sun rays hit it at a certain angle.

Gaara turned off the ignition and grabbed his briefcase from under the passenger seat. He got out of the car, narrowing his eyes at the blinding light. He closed the door and hurried up the stairs to the entrance of the factory.

The owner, Kazama Daisuke, was waiting for him. He was short old man with a receding hairline. His charisma was in his warm manners, his hands moving constantly when he worked alongside his workers or when he spoke. As Gaara approached him, he stood, stiff, his face paling.

Mr Kazama bowed to Gaara.

"Gaara-sama, I apologize we haven't had much time to prepare for your arrival," he started formally and blinked a few times, hesitating.

Gaara said nothing, his eyes drifting across the glass windows revealing the machines working noisily. He clenched his jaw.

Nervously, Mr Kazama wiped the sweat from his brow. His handkerchief disappeared in his pocket, and he gestured for Gaara to follow him.

The air was cooler in the small room they entered. There was water and a basket of fruit in the centre of the table, and Mr Kazama indicated them with formality.

"Please..." he said holding up both his hands.

"What happened?" Gaara asked and glanced at his watch.

In his breast pocket, he felt his phone vibrated, but he didn't reach for it.

"I tried to reach you, but you were already on the plane when we learned..." Mr Kazama gritted his teeth, his eyes staring hard at the floor. He bowed stiffly before talking again: "I apologize, Gaara-sama, but I think everything is lost."

Gaara unclasped his watch with swift hand movements, fingers caressing the frame, holding back the bracelet, before setting it on the table.

"The Uchiha Group is not going to send you what you need to finish," Gaara stated, unperturbed and Mr Kazama nodded roughly.

"I waited for you, but it seems there's little we can do, Gaara-sama. We tried to argue with our lawyer that they can't terminate the contract they signed, but they said they aren't terminating the contract. They said that there's only a delay."

Calmly, Gaara removed his suit jacket, the hot desperate stare of Mr Kazama searching his face. Next, he unbuttoned his cufflink. Mr Kazama's confusion grew.

"You saved us, once, Gaara-sama. That is enough for me and my family," he bowed. "It wouldn't feel right to ask for more."

Gaara rolled his sleeves up his arms.

"To the death," he said softly and his pale gaze met his darker one. "That's how I fight."

Mr Kazama paled, his chest deflated.

"I-I..."

"Give me a landline phone."

Mr Kazama hesitated then pushed a phone in Gaara's direction.

"I just don't see what we can do," the old man stammered and wiped at his forehead again.

"How many products can we finish?" Gaara asked roughly.

"Maybe 100... If I go higher, the quality..."

"What do you need?"

"Quartz from the North."

"I'll find you enough to make another 100. Then, we'll sale it as a luxury item. Make sure each item is unique."

"They are just watches and clocks..." Mr Kazama grimaced, the wave of his hands bolder as they punctuate his words.

Gaara reached for the phone and started dialling a phone number. He leaned back on the chair.

"Rarity drives up the demand, sometimes. I suggest you make sure the 100 are ready to ship as soon as possible."

He pressed the phone to his ear.

"Hello, cousin, I need you to sell me quartz."

* * *

His phone vibrated in his breast pocket vibrated two more times during his meeting with investors in the afternoon.

The atmosphere of the hotel conference room buzzed, pushing back against him; waves of foreign languages promptly translated. Gaara had made arrangements for the new product, coordinating the work at the factory and the investors.

They were running out of time.

Around him, the investors offered the same portrait as the board of directors. They picked at him; clinging to the image of Gaara, imperturbable, now flinching for a woman who didn't come from old money. They watched him warily with renewed respect. He was now a man who had defeated all traditions. A man who didn't need a rich woman to be rich.

"Congratulations on your recent wedding, Gaara-sama," Chouza Akimichi said through his translator. "But this new product... It's different from the one you promise."

Gaara lowered his gaze to his watch's gleaming frame. Time lapsed, a blurred reflection that brought no sense of urgency or comfortable rhythm.

"Hn," he pinched his lips, his fingers pressing and rubbing his tattooed forehead. "You asked for a more lucrative product proposal, so this is what I'm giving to you. 200 items will be ready by Monday and shipped out to the locations listed at page 5..."

No one turned the pages of the document he had prepared. By his side, Mr Kazama held his breath, his body growing rigid.

"Did she come with you?"

"Who?" Gaara asked flatly.

He hoped they would drop the subject sensing his darkening mood. He fixed his unflinching gaze on them, letting the silence built, a bubbling tension. Informal. They spoke to him, their shoulders relaxed, leaned back on their seat, like they were at a social club instead of a business meeting.

Gaara was one of them now, they thought.

"Newly weds shouldn't be apart this early in the marriage." Mr Akimichi smiled to himself, shaking his head, and he played with his wedding band.

Gaara narrowed his eyes at the paperwork in front of him. Would they ever get to it?

"She works."

"My wife is eager to meet her. She's from Konoha, yes? You need to come visit with her soon."

His jaw twitched.

Gaara hated how a chorus of agreement was echoed by the two other investors. They nodded sagely. Their wives wanted to meet the woman who had breached through Gaara's defense. A nameless woman now rich.

They respected her.

They envied her.

They hated her.

None of them had ever worked.

"Sakura was disappointed not to come," Gaara said stoically.

Mr Akimichi smiled satisfied and finally reached for the paperwork.

"I suppose she calls you every night to check up on your diet?"

Gaara stared intently at him. He wondered what they would say if he admitted he hadn't returned his wife's call.

"Ahh! Look at how embarrassed he is!" Mr Akimichi laughed broadly.

They went through the paperwork fast, outlining some changes before they stood up.

Gaara put his watch back on, his face quivering with frustration and displeasure.

He had been young, careless, someone to fight and mercilessly argued with before his wedding.

Now they trusted him.

They clapped his back, asking him if he wanted a home cooked meal from their wife since his wasn't present?

Mr Kazama bowed deeply, thanking him, before he left to return to the factory. Gaara felt himself nod, but he didn't move from his seat.

Once everyone was gone, Gaara slammed his leather file folder shut. His hands whitened, stiff, shaking, curling around the back of his chair. His nails ripped at the leather in white marks.

He breathed in deeply for a moment.

He straightened his back, and buttoned back his suit jacket.

Gaara left the room, their laughter following him. He took out his phone. He scrolled down through his grandmother's voicemails and missed calls. He grimaced. Instead, he called Sakura back first.

"Yes?" Sakura said hesitantly when she picked up the phone.

He pinched the bridge of his nose, his back hitting the handrail in the elevator.

"Are you done for the day?" he asked.

"You haven't spoken to Chiyo-sama," she said slowly after a brief silence.

Another silence stretched and stretched.

Gaara licked his lips, the muscle of his jaw twitching as he loosened his tie.

"She called thrice, but I have been busy. What's going on?"

"Hmm."

They weren't out of wavelength. Out of patience, still circulating like vultures, tiptoeing like predators. Their discussions, the silence nested between them, they were all charged. Couldn't they stand still? Couldn't they meet half-way? Gaara wondered.

He pinched the bridge of his nose, tension building inside his skull, his chest splitting open with each heartbeat. 'What do you want from me?' he had already asked her, but at that moment, he didn't know what he wanted from her.

_He wanted to hang up._

He wanted to tell her about Mr Akimichi's invitation.

_He wanted to hang up._

He wanted to tell her about the desert, how it burnt, red, here.

"Sakura..." Gaara breathed out, part dying laughter, part desperate plea.

Sakura sighed.

His grip shook around the phone. He looked around him. The hallway on the floor of his room was empty.

"Don't be mad," she said quietly.

Eyes narrowing, Gaara roughly pressed his card key to the card reader by his hotel room. The door hissed, and he pushed it open with his shoulder, his phone still to his ear, his leather file folder pressed under his armpit.

"What happened?"

Gaara threw his leather file on the bed and approached the balcony.

"I made a mistake..."

"What kind of mistake?" Gaara said, at loss, and his body pounded, ticked and clicked as he paced.

He was one minute to one hour. Sleepless. Angry. Terrified.

"Gaara-sama..." she sighed and shifted.

She sounded tired, resigned, and farther away than ever.

"Hn."

"Are you alone?"

His lips twisted in a snarl, her whisper booming, piercing through him.

"You don't trust me," he replied dully, dry-mouthed.

"I didn't mean a woman. I meant... an audience_,_" Sakura said but her voice was brittle, scattered through the distance between them. It sizzled with static. "I'm sorry... I just wanted to say, I'm sorry."

Gaara froze.

He wanted to snort like Temari did when he was little, but it felt wrong. He didn't want to reassure her, he wanted to reassure himself. '_Are you still mine?__'_ Their marriage was uncomfortable. She was uncomfortable. He passed a moist hand over his face. His fist dug in his hip.

"What kind of mistake?" he repeated thickly, and his eyes darted to today's newspaper folded neatly on his desk.

He approached the desk with one step and quickly scanned the front page, terrified of what he may read.

'_Are you still mine?__'_

The pages snapped, flipped through. He released a sharp breath and stepped back. Her name wasn't there. His name wasn't there.

Gaara leaned on the desk, one hand covering the front page, his eyes closed. His pants rang loudly to his ears.

"Whatever it is, Kankuro will fix it," he said. "You just need to tell me fast."

"Kankuro-sama?" Sakura repeated slowly. "I don't understand."

"Sakura, what did you do?" his voice whipped, hardened.

"Don't speak to me like that," she replied coldly.

"I can't do anything if you don't tell me," he hissed.

"I don't need your help, Gaara-sama. I just don't want you to be mad at your grandmother." Sakura laughed quietly, bitterly, when he didn't answer.

He cocked his head to the side, haltered.

"My grandmother?"

"I'm suspended two weeks from the hospital," she said and her voice didn't waver this time.

The muscles of his jaw and neck working, he unbuttoned his collar.

"You should have let me handle it," he said darkly at last.

"That's the one thing, I wouldn't have done differently," she replied firmly.

Gaara closed his eyes, the muted sound of the city washing over him. To him, it meant they still didn't belong to each other. They still didn't belong with each other. Then, why did she sound so sure of herself, so strong? Why was he the one who was always vulnerable?

"When are you coming home?" Sakura asked tentatively.

"I'm back on Tuesday. It's on the note I left."

"Right_..._" she hummed to herself.

"Do you need anything?"

He lowered the phone from his ear, his heart pounding, his face stiffening in the silence that followed. He hated this part of him. The child who craved love. The teenager who tattooed his forehead. The man who was still wounded and alone.

"You've already given me enough, Gaara-sama," she said with a sobered voice.

"Hn. Good night," Gaara said, and he hung up without waiting for her reply.

It possessed him, the same way insomnia and anger still consumed him; solitude. It possessed him that she didn't understand, nor reach for him when they became unbearable.

It wasn't natural to neither of them.

* * *

The next day, Sakura lifted the metallic door of the storage unit. The metal wrinkled, clicking loudly before the door stilled above her head. She panted and readjusted the earphones in her ears.

"You've so much junk, god." Ino said with disgust.

"How can you tell, Ino-Pig?" Sakura asked, annoyed, her left eyebrow twitching. "You can't even see!"

"Well, I can hear the dust, Forehead! And I know you, you hoarder!"

Sakura rolled her eyes. Ino rambled on about a toy she refused to throw out when they were children.

"It was ruined!" Ino continued, her voice rising in crescendo. "My dad bought you a new one for your birthday two years later, so you would just give it up. Holes, Sakura! It had holes!"

Sakura dusted her hands and took a step in the unit. It was less than half empty. Her furniture was covered with thick moving blankets. She touched them lightly.

"You should throw everything out," Ino said flippantly.

Sakura smirked.

"Awww... You want something?"

"Hell no," Ino snorted. "You've nothing but junk."

"In the trash and donation center, then. I'm thinking of keeping a few things still..."

"Sakura?"

"Hmm?"

"Do you still have them?"

"What?" Sakura asked, distracted.

She weighed her pink stapler Ino had given her in her hands. She carefully set it on top of the things she wanted to keep.

"The letters," Ino said softly and Sakura froze. "I thought maybe you still had them and that's why you were scared about Gaara going through your things."

'Yes.'

"No," Sakura said with a toneless voice.

"Fine," Ino said in a sing-song voice. "So, are you okay?"

Sakura wiped her sweaty face with the back of her arm, her knees buckling. Ino had a gift for sensing people's emotions and thoughts, making sense of her always conflicted mind.

"Yes, I just…" Sakura started and closed her eyes briefly to compose herself.

She had briefly explained to Ino what had happened at the hospital, unwilling to add more lies to the mounting pile. But it kept growing. Inside her. Between them. Between Gaara and her.

Sakura shook her head and moved a box to the side.

"She was right," she admitted softly. "I thought being strong meant to fight for myself. It never occurred to ask anyone for help or that it would affect others. I even thought that Namiyo-sensei was being a bad attending because it was easier."

"Hmmm, I should have taught you better."

Sakura gasped loudly.

Then, they laughed easily.

For a while, they were silent. Sakura worked through her things dividing her things in three separate piles: things she would keep, things to donate and things to throw out.

"Any news from Tenten?" Ino hummed and Sakura heard her flipped through pages.

She smiled, picturing Ino flopped on her stomach, flipping through some fashion magazine.

"She's in one of her mysterious missions, I guess," Sakura replied. "I tried calling her after we last hung up, and I couldn't reach her."

Ino clicked her tongue.

"She's a pilot."

"She's an astronaut."

They settled back in their familiar routine, and Sakura was grateful for the distraction. It was time to let so many things go, she feared she had lost herself. But this. This was home.

"She's an alien."

"She's this jet set mystery woman," Ino cried out suddenly and Sakura heard her tossed her magazine to the side. "I can't believe the bitch isn't sharing her wealth with us."

They giggled.

Sakura closed another box.

"I hope she's okay," she muttered.

"She's always fine," Ino sighed, "but I feel better when she's here, munching god knows how many calories."

She paused for another dramatic sigh.

"I would feel better if you were here too. I mean you're free for the next two weeks..."

Sakura munched on her lips and forced herself to keep moving stuff around. She sorted through picture frames when she found the baby blue box. The box was another gift from Ino.

Sakura pulled it toward her, her hands trembling, as she lifted the lid.

_Square your shoulders. __Straighten your back. __Chin up. __Move on__, _the box sang back to her. She let her fingers ran across the letters. All returned and never opened. She faltered when she touched the last envelope. 'You're annoying,' he had written in caps on it.

"I'll think about it," Sakura said quietly and put the lid back on.

"Good," Ino said and Sakura could hear the smile in her voice.

"Move on," she mouthed to herself, and she returned to her sorting.

* * *

Sakura spent the next morning with Chiyo again.

In the afternoon, she had put away the things she had kept from the storage unit. Now, she was in the garden, sweating, and pulling at a large bag of soil. She swore as she managed to drag it to wear she wanted to plant the flowers she had bought under Ino's suggestion.

The sun was hot on the back of her beck, the garden buzzing with flailing insects.

Sakura panted, resting her hands on her knees, brows knitted together. She knew this house would never be home if she didn't start taking over it, piece by piece. She had scattered her things across her study, her bedroom, claiming them both.

The garden was beautiful, but it also made her terribly uneasy. No matter how she thought about it, she couldn't imagine Gaara sitting on the ground, his hands shifting, rolling the soil.

From her back pockets, Sakura removed a pair of garden glove. She put them on.

"Let's do this," she said, unconvinced.

Before she could start digging a hole next in the ground, her phone rang. She straightened her back, growling.

"Hello, honey," Sakura answered with fake cheerfulness. "What are you doing?"

"What are **you** doing?" Gaara countered icily.

Sakura rolled her eyes.

"I'm in the garden. I'm about to plant-"

"I know you are," Gaara interrupted her. "Stop, that right now. You're going to kill my plants."

Sakura slowly turned on herself, narrowed eyes drifting across the yard.

"You're spying on me?" she asked darkly.

"Squirrels."

"What?"

"I'm spying on squirrels," he enunciated, annoyance bleeding through his words. "They destroyed the tomatoes last year. You activated the movement detectors."

Annoyed, Sakura nudged the bag of soil with her foot.

"Why can't I plant what I bought?"

Gaara sighed impatiently.

"Because that flower will grow taller than the orchids and cast shadow on them. It took me months to figure it out. They don't normally grow in this weather. Don't ruin my garden with your reckless planting."

Sakura's jaw twitched with annoyance, her temper rising.

"Our garden, honey," she corrected through gritted teeth.

"And why aren't you wearing a cap?" he continued, an edge to his voice.

"Say, "_our garden_"."

"This isn't funny, Sakura," he raised his voice for the first time, his words pressed together, agitated. "This is Suna, not Konoha. Put a cap on. Now."

"Yes, well, I was trying for hilarious. Now, say-"

Gaara remotely activated the sprinklers.

Sakura yelped. She cursed. Instinctively, she covered her face with her arms as she ran through the jets of water. She reached She panted, wiping at the wet screen of her phone as well as she could on her soaked through clothes.

She swore loudly.

"WHAT'S WRONG WITH YOU?" Sakura shouted in the phone, holding out her drenched shirt from her skin.

"Wasn't that hilarious,_ honey_?"

Speechless, Sakura merely gaped, a single drop falling down her nose.

Gaara laughed quietly, then he hung up.

She widened her eyes at her phone, then she looked around her once more trying to spot the camera.

"Son of a..."

Wiping at her wet face, her mood darkened. She swore again. Her sandals slapped, wet, against the wooden terrace. She passed by the table when she noticed a package of cigarettes hidden in the bushes by the sliding door.

"What is he? A 16 year old delinquent?" Sakura swore under her breath and shook her head.

Her pink locks stuck to her neck and jaw, and she brushed them out of the way.

"Son of a..." she repeated and roughly slid the doors open.

* * *

On Tuesday night, Sakura sat on her bed with the blue box. Her skin was still damp from the shower under her pyjamas.

'_You're annoying._'

The red ink poked and pierced through her ribcage, her heart out of reach.

Sakura shut her eyes, her hands gripping at the box. It was the one thing she couldn't let go. Maybe there was no getting rid of the lovestruck girl she had been. Maybe there was no shedding skin. Things changed, people didn't. Smiling sadly, she pushed the box away and stood up. She hid the box behind her night table.

She slipped under the covers. Toying with a loose strand of her hair, she stared at the ceiling fan.

The front door beeped.

She sprang up, frowning in the darkness. Her breathing was deafening as she waited but the stairs didn't creak. She had lost counts of how many times he had glared at her at breakfast or during supper, asking her why she didn't use the study.

"But he lives in the living room," Sakura growled under her breath and kicked off the covers.

In two steps, she reached the door of the bedroom and opened it.

She walked down the hallway, mumbling to herself.

From the top of the stairs, Sakura couldn't see him, but she felt the light breeze of the night. As she climbed down the stairs, she heard him rummaged on terrace.

She fought a smirk.

Gaara had left his suitcase by the entrance, neatly tucked out of the way, but he had tossed his jacket and tie on the couch. She grabbed the jewelry box off the coffee table.

He swore under his breath. The branches of the bushes moved more violently.

Sakura leaned on the doorframe of the sliding doors overseeing the terrace.

Sensing her, Gaara stilled and looked at her over his shoulder. He buried his hands in his pockets, straightening his back. His face was cast in utter darkness.

She crossed her arms over her chest.

"I don't want to fight," he said and the corner of his mouth twitched.

He sat down at the table, his face now turned toward the garden.

"Okay, but you should know that I threw out your cigarettes."

He grunted.

"They are Shikamaru's cigarettes."

"I don't want to fight either. We've done too much of it lately." she sighed loudly.

With one hand, he pulled a chair out for her. The back legs of the chair squeaked, rattling the wood of the terrace.

Nodding her head in thanks, Sakura sat down. They avoided looking at each other, turned toward the peacefulness of the garden. Crickets chirped and small birds sang back to each other. Sakura raised her head toward the sky.

The clouds completely obscured the stars.

"Do you think we'll be alright?" she asked quietly.

"Don't worry. Whatever happens, I've enough money to cover everything you need."

"I wasn't talking about money, Gaara."

He turned his head toward her.

"Obaasan didn't lie when she said you were one of a kind. You've known financial struggles, but money doesn't worry you?"

'Another thing I've misunderstood,' she thought and it saddened her. It angered. She was angry at herself. At him. She hugged herself tighter.

"You don't sign things lightly," she said quietly.

It was the one thing, she had believed from the start.

Gaara nodded slowly to himself, a small smile tugging at his lips.

"I think we'll be alright," he whispered. "I just don't think it'll be easy."

"Hmm."

"What?"

"Here."

She put the box on the table.

Gaara frowned at the jewelry box. Sakura stared at him, openly, half her face illuminated the neighbour's light.

"That's yours," he said.

She pushed it closer to him.

"Offer it to me."

Gaara cocked his head to the side, brows knitted together.

"I thought I already did," he said slowly.

"No, you left it on the dinning table. I want you to offer it to me properly."

Sakura thrust her chin out, her limpid eyes shrouded in shadows.

Gaara nodded solemnly. He took back the box, turning it in his hands.

"Are you sad about the hospital?"

"I had accumulated too many hours..." she said sheepishly.

His face hardened.

"Don't do that."

Her shoulders sank.

"I'm bored," she admitted quietly. "And ashamed. And sorry."

"Hn." Gaara reached across the table and gave her the box. "I got you a watch," he said quietly.

He hesitated and opened the box. He gestured for her to reach for it.

"Do you like it?" he asked, his voice extinguished, when she didn't move.

Her face cracked open, jumbled shadows and islands of weak light.

"It's pretty," she said with a shy smile, but her hard gaze didn't waver.

She held out her wrist toward him.

"You're bossy," he smirked and removed the watch from the jewelry box.

Slowly, Gaara reached for her, hesitating. He met her gaze before touching her. He turned her wrist on the side to fasten the watch. She stilled in his grasp, goosebumps raising, her skin warm against his. He glanced up at her again.

She stared at the watch or his hand around her arm, he couldn't tell.

Gaara carefully moved the bracelet.

"It's a bit loose," she said and her hand shook in his when she laughed.

Gaara slid one finger under the bracelet, and she stilled once more, her lips parted. He looked up at her. Her cheeks were flushed.

"I think they only need to remove two links," Gaara said and carefully unfastened the watch. "I'll have it fixed tomorrow."

"Okay..." she breathed out, her hand still suspended between them.

It still burnt from his touch.

Catching herself, Sakura whipped her arm back toward her. She cleared her throat, glancing away.

"It's getting late," she said, her voice, her heart wobbly, drumming at the back of her throat. "Well... good night."

"Night," he said glancing after her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As I mentioned before, I'll be taking a short break from updating to focus on other projects that I've been neglecting *side glances*. I made it so that the end of this chapter sends no one on a war path for my head. No cliffhanger or anything. XD
> 
> I'll see you all soon :)) I hope everyone is staying safe and taking care of their health and others' by staying home as much as possible. Much, much love to all of you!


	9. Be Angry

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thought we were missing some proper mutual pinning and sexual innuendos, so here we are. Huehuehuehe
> 
> Enjoy, guys!

Once Gaara was alone, he lit the lights the garden.

Then, he waited.

Gaara waited, his arms crossed over his chest, still sitting at the table on the patio.

He waited for the day to rise, for the phone call he knew was coming.

He waited for the fight to begin.

Gaara touched his lips, the unwavering line was gone. He snarled. He smirked. And his stare drifted across the garden. It stopped on the potted plant Sakura hadn't put in the soil.

Gaara inclined his head, pushing back his chair to stand up. Darkness, the plants, they all coaxed his mind, and his steps were slow, calculated, like they had been in the illegal boxing ring years ago. Nothing had changed. He still prowled. He still did business like he had been taught to.

Like father, like son.

Gaara squatted down, frowning at the soil and flower she had bought. He turned the pot slowly, examining the shuddering plant. The leaves shone dully with splashes of yellow and deep green veins crisscrossing over them. The plant was still young, with only two budding flowers attached to its stem, but it was healthy.

Gaara wondered what made her pick this plant over another. It wasn't from the Fire Country. He would have expected her to pick a small pot of flowers. '_Or something pink_,' he thought with disdain.

Gaara finally picked the pot up and moved it to the hedge at the back of the yard. With his foot he marked the soil, silently calculating how much it would need to grow and thrive and not kill the neighbouring plants.

He paused, uncomfortable.

His foot made a deeper imprint, the soil rising in fine dust around him.

Gaara put his hands in his pockets, hesitating again.

She would want to do this herself, he decided and turned away from the plant. He nodded to himself, rubbing at the back of his head to soothe the tension building there. His hand slid up his neck, and he rolled his head back. His hand moved up to touch his tattoo. Touch the monster lurking, there.

He was still waiting for the fight to begin.

Gaara walked back to the patio and sat down at the table, leaning back against his chair, he stretched his arm until he could reach of the stone circling the bushes. He moved it and retrieved another pack of cigarettes inside.

He smirked, his lips gnarled and twisted.

Kankuro and Gaara had stolen many of Shikamaru's packs over the years he had dated their sister. It had started as a prank. They now knew Shikamaru pretended not to notice, but Gaara couldn't imagine stopping now. It had become a habit.

He lit the cigarette and let it rest on the rock, thin smoke rising from its tip.

Gaara started writing neat instructions for Sakura for the plant. He hesitated again, his eyes finding her plant once more. He had never let anyone touch his garden. He started writing again, clarifying his instructions.

He couldn't let her destroy his garden.

'_Our garden, honey,_' Gaara could imagine Sakura saying it.

Gaara narrowed his eyes and scowled. He restarted the list on a new page.

His phone buzzed in his pocket 30 minutes later.

Dark excitement throbbing inside him, Gaara reached for the cigarette, looking at it, as he did when he started stealing them from Shikamaru at 11. He dropped it back on the rock before taking out his phone from his pocket and answering the call.

"Sabaku Gaara."

"Gaara-sama…" Matsuri's voice was ragged, split by hiccups and pants. "The supply chain..." Her voice wobbled and stopped, cut short.

Gaara picked the cigarette up a third time and took a drag from it. The tip burnt a deeper red. He made circles of smoke, his head hazy. He leaned farther back in his seat.

"It's broken, I know," Gaara said smoothly.

His insides twisted, his heart pounded. It had been years since he had last felt this way. 'Since I took back what was mine from Orochimaru,' he thought darkly. He hadn't fought in a long time. He snarled, rolling the smoke inside his mouth. He exhaled. He flicked the ashes away.

"How did you know? It just happened!" Matsuri squeaked.

"Because I expected it," he said simply.

Involuntarily, Gaara looked up at the balcony of the bedroom. He wondered if Sakura would shout at him liked Temari did when he was younger if she caught him smoking.

"Daisuke-sama is frantic..." Matsuri rambled on, and Gaara only half-listened.

He had made up his mind hours ago. He had known it would come to this. And it felt _good_. He felt solid, tensed, knotted, all parts of him unfolding in something that was purely him.

"Tell him I'm handling it," Gaara said and smirked in the darkness.

"O-okay... But..." Matsuri started nervously.

Gaara budded the cigarette on the rock, readjusting his cellphone over his ear.

"I'll leave in a couple of hours."

Gaara stood up and replaced the package behind the rock and picked up the cigarette to throw it out inside. Somehow, he didn't want Sakura to know.

"What about me, Gaara-sama?" Matsuri asked, and Gaara could almost see her straightening her back, forcing her nervousness out of her voice, out of her trembling hands.

"What do you need me to do?" she added with a firmer voice.

Gaara stepped inside and crossed the living room to reach the kitchen. His mind was empty. Normally, he would try to alleviate her anxiety. Normally, he would pause and try to consider her feelings or Daisuke's, but they seemed so far away now.

Everything was a whisper, a mere echo, in the creeping silence in his head.

_He didn't care._

_He was a self-loving demon._

_He was Gaara._

"I'll call you later," he said from faraway, his voice cool and soft.

Gaara prowled in the darkness of his living room, his hand already dropping back to his side.

"H-hai!" she said and her voice screeched, muffled. His thumb moved across the screen to hang up.

He slid his phone back in his pocket.

Mechanically, Gaara opened the refrigerator and took out a water bottle. He put it next to his briefcase. He picked up his suitcase from the side of the door, then, he climbed up the stairs, never stopping. The wooden floor creaked softly under his weight.

He pushed open the bedroom door.

Silently, he moved in the walk-in closet and set his suitcase down. He picked the first two suits and two fresh shirts from the rack. He pulled at his own clothes, briefly glancing at Sakura's sleeping form. Her breathing was soft, undisturbed, her body buried under the blankets.

Quickly, he changed his shirt for a simple black sweatshirt.

Gaara slid his clothes in two garment bags, then dropped them in his suitcase along with boxers and socks. He removed his socks and dropped them in the laundry basket before picking a pair out of the drawer.

He stilled, turning his head back toward the bed.

She hadn't moved.

His breath grew shallower as he returned to the bedroom, his gaze drifting to the left night table. He pinched his lips, approaching it as silently as he could. She slept on the left side.

_His_ side.

'_Our side, honey._'

Gaara clenched his jaw, his bones snapping and grinding together as he approached the night table. He could see her face now. Gaara held his breath as he opened the drawer, watching her. There were another pack of cigarettes, his other set of car keys and a few leaflets of his old life. He picked up the car keys and closed the drawer.

Sakura mumbled in her sleep and rolled away.

Gaara relaxed when she had once more settled against the pillows, the blankets carefully tucked under her chin. '_At least, she doesn't snore_,' he thought.

Gaara sat on the edge of the bed and put on his sock. He dropped the key and stilled, looking over his shoulder. He bent over and froze, his fingers grazing his car keys. He cocked his head to the side, the snarl curling back his lips over his teeth. He could see the imprints of the night table legs on the rug.

She had moved it.

Probably to hide something like he did.

Gaara stood up, his keys secured in his fist. He licked his lips. Silently, slowly, he leaned in until his head touched the wall to look behind the night table. The curve of his mouth deepened. There was a blue box resting carefully against the back of the table.

He glanced at his watch without seeing the numbers. They didn't hold him prisoner anymore. He didn't care.

_He was Gaara, self-loving demon._

He reached for the box and grabbed it, easing out of its hiding place. Holding it, he stepped in front of the curtains. He edged the lid of the box up, risking a last glance toward her. She didn't move. He opened the box. He raised a brow. She hid letters, like a boring school girl.

He thumbed through them, disinterested, ready to close the lid when he saw the red ink on the last envelope. He pulled it up.

'YOU'RE ANNOYING' was written across it.

He read the address and the name.

Gaara re-read the name several times, a burning sensation settling in his guts. Crushing. Howling.

"Sasuke Uchiha," he mouthed.

His eyes gleaming, Gaara turned back toward her sleeping form, breathless, holding in and in. Growing.

She didn't move.

Numb, Gaara replaced the box where he found it, his head pounding. He could see Orichimaru's pale grip in the darkness, manipulating him through Sasuke. Through Sakura. Through Kin. He could see him arranging Sakura into his life, like he had done Kin, perfectly, smoothly. Until he was once more the little boy sitting across from him in his father's office.

"Sakura," Gaara said over her, his voice taut.

He felt himself grow darker, taller, sharper. A part of him shuddered. This part was quenched promptly. The silence was back, heavy, sinking in with the anger that burnt through him.

_He didn't care._

_ **He didn't care.** _

_He cared about no one, but himself._

"Wake up," Gaara said louder, flatly.

"Hmmfp," Sakura mumbled, pressing her face to her pillow.

"Wake up."

Sakura growled, then rolled on her back. His car keys bit back in his palm, the pain dulled. He watched her, impassible. She turned her head, her hair standing out in impossible angles. She blinked rapidly, her gaze looking at the curtain, then at him.

"What time is it?" Sakura moaned and ran a hand through her hair. "It's still dark outside."

He turned his wrist, glancing at his watch briefly.

"Roughly 3 AM."

"Why did you wake me up?" Sakura sighed, tired, her hands on her stomach.

She bent her knees, then rolled to her side, away from him.

He clenched his jaw. There was a flash of anger, undisciplined and raw, exploding in his head. Sasuke Uchiha, of all men. Sasuke Uchiha who was coming after his family. After him. There was anger, then nothing. Crushed.

Gaara walked to the door, on the other side of the bed, so he would face her. Her eyes focused on him, wide and angry.

'_Good_,' Gaara thought. He was also angry. He understood anger.

"I need to leave," he said, even, and picked up his suitcase. "Now, listen," he hissed.

Sakura yawned loudly and sat up on the bed, the blanket and bed sheets clinging to her waist. She rubbed her face.

"Why?" she grumbled and shook her head. "You could have just left me a note."

Gaara ignored her.

"Temari will call, and I need you to go with her."

Her hands dropped to her knees, her mouth small and twisted with anger and surprise.

"What?" she stammered, then caught herself. She added through her teeth: "Why?"

"She texted me, and I'm not answering, so she'll call you next."

Gaara pushed back against the door and walked out of the bedroom. He heard her curse in her native language. She groaned and the bed sheets creaked and snapped, tossed aside. He reached the bottom of the stairs. Her feet pattered, fast.

She gripped his sleeve.

"Wait, Gaara-sama!" Sakura said sharply, her face red.

Without staring back, Gaara pulled out of her grasp.

She ran around him and held out her arms, blocking his exit.

His jaw worked. He hadn't expected her to be this difficult.

"I thought…" Sakaru let the sentence dangle, searching his face. It loomed, shrouded in darkness, greyish, his eyes shining, oily, uncomfortable. She took a step back and bit her below lip.

She couldn't fully express the dread that gnawed on pieces of her fractured mind.

'_I thought we were okay,_' Sakura said inwardly, her teeth sinking harder in her lip.

Gaara looked back at her, his car keys clicking softly as he moved them in his palm. Her gaze drifted to his hand.

"That's… That's not the brand of your car."

"Hn. I need you to tell Temari I took the other car," Gaara said dismissively and walked past her.

Blinking rapidly, Sakura didn't move at first.

Gaara stepped down in the entrance and put on his shoes.

Sakura spun with halting steps to look down at him.

"What other car?" Sakura asked shakily.

Gaara set his suitcase against the wall. In the same movement, he bent down and pulled his shoes toward him.

"The one in the garage."

She watched him, horrified, and swallowed with difficulty.

"You're not making any sense." Sakura exclaimed quietly, rubbing at her arms.

"Hn. Chiyo-baasan may also call you," Gaara added.

Her eyes widened, and the anger was gone. She was terrified.

Numbly, Gaara recoiled, but he also wanted to punish her. There was this doubt in his mind, Orochimaru's standing behind her, and he had never been angrier.

Sakura stood pale with her arms around herself, pleading him with her eyes.

_He didn't care._

_He didn't care._

But he still wouldn't move.

"You're avoiding her calls," Sakura breathed out, her voice extinguished. Her chin trembled. Her hands clasped more tightly around herself.

"Yes," Gaara said simply.

"Are you doing something stupid?" Sakura asked softly.

His eyes flashed with anger.

'_Are you?_'

His mind should have remained silent. There had always been a ritual. Pulsing anger, clenched fists, then nothing. _He didn't care._ Yet, she pierced through, with her eyes and terror, and there was no room left for his anger.

And Gaara still hoped, the way he had still hoped that Kin hadn't betrayed him, that Orochimaru hadn't played him. That the biggest monster, lurking in the darkness, had been under his bed.

'_I can't do this again_,' he thought, and finally, there was silence again.

He would fight and he would win.

_He didn't care about her._

His mouth curled back, and Gaara reached for the door knob, unlocking it swiftly. He heard her step down, and he couldn't help but pause.

"When are you going to be back?" Sakura asked tentatively.

'_Move_,' Gaara silently commanded his hand. '_Move._'

"I don't know."

He didn't want to come back.

"You just left and came back…"

"I told you it won't be easy. This is what I meant," Gaara said icily, but his hand still wouldn't move over the doorknob.

He wished it would have been more sharply. More teeth, less whisper.

She took a step toward him.

"What if I call?" Sakura asked feebly. "Are you going to pick up?"

Gaara stared back at her hard, his face unreadable. He had wanted this to be real, to be simple, but even if she looked earnest, even if there hadn't been Kin's betrayal prowling and howling at the back of his head, he would still think that no one could ever truly love him.

He had been the naïve little boy too often.

And his back had been wide open each time.

And he never learned.

'_No one can love me. My name is Gaara._'

"Don't call me with any one of my family standing next to you," Gaara said coldly.

He was always so naïve. So desperate.

He slammed the door after him.

There it was, the familiar silence in his head.

There it was, his bloodlust.

* * *

Sakura slept fitfully for the rest of the night, kicking off the bed sheets, and dragging them back under her chin in turns.

When morning came, Sakura stared at the ceiling, the quivering ceiling fan above her head, her mind reeling with the expression on his face. She sighed and rolled to her side, her hand grasping for her phone. She considered calling Ino, but it was the middle of the day in Konoha, so Ino was probably working. Her finger then hovered above Tenten's name.

Sakura hesitated then threw her phone away from her, groaning.

She buried her face in her hands, crying out her frustration.

A few minutes later, her phone rang, buzzing endlessly in the bed sheets.

Sakura froze. She grimaced, rubbing at her face, not moving immediately. She glanced between her fingers at her phone.

The number was blocked.

_Temari_.

* * *

Sakura arrived early at the coffee shop to meet with Temari. Their phone call had been cold and overly formal.

Sakura ground her teeth, looking out the window, her shoulders tensed.

Temari got out of her car in time, her purple high heels gleaming under the sun. With a swift movement of the wrist, she dropped her sunglasses in front of her eyes, her purse in the crook of her elbow. She wore an elegant black suit. Bowing, her driver shut the door after her.

Sakura laughed quietly, nervously, staring down at her summer dress and flip-flops.

The door of the coffee shop opened and the hostess quickly accompanied Temari to the table. Sakura smiled placidly and bowed her head, half-rising from her seat.

"Temari-sama."

Temari briskly dropped her purse on the seat next to hers. She slowly inclined her head, as if greeting her, but her smile bit, her eyes sharp with disdain. She moved unnaturally to sit down.

Sakura kept smiling, lips stiffening, and she reached for her glass of water to occupy herself.

"Do you want to be part of this family?" Temari asked softly, and she laced her fingers together on the table, as she leaned back against the chair.

The gesture reminded Sakura of Director Chiyo. '_Straight for the jugular, then,_' Sakura thought. Her face hurt.

"I _am_ part of this family," Sakura said with feigned cheerfulness, and shrugged carelessly.

Her gaze flickered across the tables. The coffee shop was almost empty. It now seemed like a carefully planned scene. She returned her gaze to Temari, sweat gathering on her palms.

"We both know that's not true," Temari smiled, hollow, her lips barely curling, frozen in place.

They stared at each other.

"What do you want from me?" Sakura asked flatly.

Temari sighed and looked away from her. She waved at the waiter, and she hurried to bring her the menu.

"Coffee. Bring me rose water too," Temari ordered, and she glanced briefly at Sakura. "What about you?"

"I'll have the same," Sakura said coldly, and they stared back at each other.

Once the waiter had gone, Temari inclined her head again as if deep in thought.

"Make Gaara change his mind about the company he's bought before he ruins everything he's built."

Sakura didn't flinch, but her insides twisted. She made her feel childish and small. Temari was the sort of women who sat on a director's chair, who claimed her place with the way she held herself.

Sakura's fists curled feebly.

A waitress brought them their coffee, and they both turned their heads toward her, smiling. The waitress bowed and then was gone. Sakura felt Temari's heavy cool stare on her, so similar to Gaara's, as she dripped rose water in her cup.

She sipped from her cup.

Temari didn't move.

She was observing her, her gaze, sharp and calculated, like her smile.

"The company he bought..." Temari said slowly, her voice low. "It's near bankruptcy. Gaara wants to release a new product to save it, but it's still a suicide mission. Persuade him to let it go."

Temari reached for the rose water container.

Sakura's cool smile didn't waver.

"I don't know anything about his business, and I frankly don't want to know."

Temari inclined her head considering it. Her fingers wiggled slowly as she straightened her engagement ring. Carefully, she replaced her cup of coffee in the saucer, the delicate porcelain clicking.

"He truly didn't tell you anything," Temari sighed.

Sakura's smile froze. She knew Temari's words, the inclination of her head, implied she should have. They implied she should be hurt. They implied they were drinking coffee and playing a game Temari was simply better at. Even if she knew it with her head, her heart squeezed.

"No," Sakura replied dully.

"He left..." Temari raised a brow, letting the sentence dangle.

Sakura ground her teeth. She wanted to say nothing, but she also had the urge to defend herself. Defend her marriage. Even ruins were worth defending.

Temari's face was unreadable as she leaned back against her chair, watching her. Sakura was once more reminded of Gaara by the familiar gesture. She could feel herself falter.

"In a car I didn't know he had," Sakura continued in spite of herself.

This was what Gaara wanted her to say.

This was what Temari wanted her to say.

"You're a smart girl, Sakura," Temari said and took another sip from her cup. She waved to Sakura to encourage her to do the same. "Tell me what do you think he's up to?"

Sakura's jaw twitched. She looked down at her mug. She hadn't noticed that her hands were still curled around it. In her mind's eye, she saw Gaara's pale face and his other set of car keys. She wondered if they were two misfits, Gaara and her.

If that was why they avoided, tip toed around each other, expecting games after games, and hiding, and lying.

Maybe, they were both forced into place, dolls that needed to conform.

And they had nothing to fill their house.

"Anything," Sakura replied dully, and her gaze rose back to meet Temari's. "He's angry."

Temari's face sharpened and paled, her smile wavered. There was a flash of worry in her gaze as it drifted across Sakura's naked arms and body.

"I see," Temari said stiffly.

"I don't think you should intervene," Sakura added softly, her heart pounding in her skull.

She didn't understand Temari's reaction. She had anticipated frustration, but not worry.

"Purple," Temari said briskly and waved the waitress forward once more.

"Excuse me?"

Sakura blinked rapidly, faltering as Temari snapped open the menu the waitress handed her.

"We'll have the continental breakfast. Thank you."

Sakura gazed between the waitress and Temari, her mouth open to talk, but the waitress was already gone. She still held up a finger in an attempt to catch her attention before settling once more in her seat.

"My bridesmaids were supposed to wear purple," Temari continued like they had been interrupted, "but this won't do with your complexion and hair colour."

Unabashed, Temari took a sip from her coffee.

Sakura couldn't reply. She shifted in her seat, uncomfortable.

"We will remedy that with silver or bronze," Temari stated and reached for her purse to take out a large binder from her purse.

Quickly, she flipped through it. She paused, nodding to herself, and tapped two fabric samples with her index. She held up the binder for Sakura to see.

"Here. What do you think?"

Sakura's gaze shifted from the binder to Temari's cool calm.

"You should have purple at your wedding if this is what you want, Temari-sama."

Temari snorted.

"You're my brother's wife. I won't make you look like cupcake in a dress," she glanced at her watch. "We have an appointment with my tailor in 45 minutes. We should have time to eat, yes?"

Sakura tried to smile, her mind spinning as Temari threw more information at her about her upcoming wedding.

* * *

Her sister-in-law was terrifying, Sakura decided when she returned home, exhausted.

"Even Ino would have hated this," she grumbled unlocking the door.

With difficulty, Sakura pushed open the door of her house, boxes of shoes and her dress beating against her legs and arms.

Groaning, and without ceremony, Sakura kicked off her shoes and dropped her bags and boxes on the kitchen table before sinking on the couch. She cursed softly under her breath and pulled out her cellphone from her pocket.

Gaara answered on the first ring.

"Hn?"

"Temari said I should make you drop your new company," Sakura said coldly.

"Oh?" Gaara sounded amused.

Sakura flipped to the side, and slowly sat up. She combed her hair back, her phone digging deeper in her ear.

"I don't like this," she added through gritted teeth when he didn't say anything.

"Hn. Did she pick her dress?"

"She did months ago, apparently," Sakura said sarcastically. "We picked mine. It only took five hours."

"Good."

Sakura pinched the bridge of her nose and squeezed her eyes shut. He seemed even more distant now, noncommittal, out-of-reach, and there was still this dread in the pit of her stomach.

'_What did I do?_' a part of her cowered while another part of her, expended, hot, demanding. _Square your shoulders. __Straighten your back. __Chin up, _it urged her.

"I don't like this, Gaara-sama," she repeated, her voice snapping and cutting.

Sakura breathed hard, her fingers clenching her phone more tightly.

"I'll give your anything you want to make up for it," Gaara replied, dismissively, after what seemed like an eternity.

"Stop throwing money at me," Sakura shouted. "I need five hours of my life back! Did you there is a billion of different shades of bronze? I don't need money! I need a time machine and a fucking clone to run errands with your sister!"

She breathed heavily, her fingers massaging her temples.

'_What happened? Between yesterday and today, what happened?_'

"But, this is what you wanted in the first place, no? Money."

Sakura flinched at his tone. She blinked rapidly, the silence mounting, full of violence, full of echoes. They had never addressed his needs, she realized.

'_What do you want?_' he had asked at the grocery store, and over and over again. She couldn't bring herself to return the question. She had never felt enough.

"This is what I _needed_," she said quietly, and her mind split in its centre. '_Isn't this what you want__ed__ to hear?_'

"There's a difference," she added, her voice stronger.

"Is there?" Gaara taunted, and there was finally an edge to his voice.

Her lips pursued, Sakura didn't reply. Her heart burst in her chest. The skin of her ear grew hot and uncomfortable from the pressure of her cellphone. And it built and built, in her bones, in her chest, the pressure of them always clashing.

"When are you coming back, Gaara-sama?" Sakura asked blankly.

There was nothing else to ask.

"Stop calling me Gaara-sama," he said almost mocking.

She narrowed her eyes, losing her temper. He sounded like a rebellious child. He sounded vague and demanding.

"Well, I'm already in the middle of a favour. Queue them!" she shouted.

He laughed low, and she bristled.

"Hn. Feisty."

The corner of her mouth twitched.

"I'm not returning the compliment," she snapped and hung up.

She stared at her phone in her hand for a moment before tossing it on the couch. She dropped on the couch, lying back against the cushions. She kicked at them, squirming to find a comfortable position. The back of her eyes stung.

"What a jerk," she muttered half-heartedly.

Sakura ground her teeth.

She always carried him, now, with the empty house, her loneliness, the phone calls alternating between Temari and Director Chiyo.

She wanted to leave him behind like she did Konoha.

Before she cared enough to lose sight of herself again.

Sakura left him behind in her mind. She left him slip away, receding from her skin, by stepping outside, under the scorching setting sun. Farther and farther, he slipped away, and she stood in a garden she called hers. Later, she stood in the kitchen she called hers. Later, in the bedroom, she had claimed for herself.

She buried him, before he could bury her.

_This_ was what she needed.

A burial.

* * *

Later in the evening, Sakura glared the note he had left her on the patio table under a rock.

He always managed to surprise her. Good or bad.

Sakura freed the piece of paper from under the rock to read it. He had detailed instructions for the plant she had bought, going as far as marking the ideal place it should be by the hedge.

"And now he's back to being a jerk," Sakura groaned and carried the instructions with her to the back of the hedge where her plant waited for her.

She squatted down, her arms easily folding around her knees. She pressed her cheek to her arm, inclining her head to examine her plant. Her sheet of instructions wrinkled and snapped in the wind.

The garden was peaceful, leaves and petals softly rustling.

"If he activates the sprinkler now," Sakura said gleefully, her fake smile stretching across her face. She felt so sad. "I'm going to crazy-murder him." She touched the pot. "Then, plant you on top of his body."

Her phone buzzed.

Sakura sighed and moved her head from side-to-side to stretch her neck.

"Here we go again," she mumbled before accepting the call.

"Chiyo-sama, how are you?"

"Enough chitchat! Where are you?" Chiyo barked then cackled.

"I'm home," Sakura said, deadpan.

"Why are you still this formal to me? Call me obaasan!"

"I-"

"Never mind that!" Chiyo interrupted. "Get to my office tomorrow morning at 9. Bring that dress you picked with Temari."

Sakura involuntarily glanced back at the house and stood up. The sliding doors were half-hidden behind the pear trees lined in front of her. The pale walls of the house were dotted by shadows of leaves.

"How did you know... obaasan?" she asked nervously

"I know everything," Director Chiyo stated, and Sakura flinched at her tone. The laughter was gone from her voice now. "Don't be late!"

Then, she hung up.

"This is how I know they're all from the same family," she said to herself and put her phone back in her pocket.

She squatted back down.

She started digging to plant her plant. '_My plant_,' she kept thinking, ferociously.

* * *

The next morning, Sakura sat at her usual seat in the director's office, the dress next to her wrapped in plastic protective bag.

"You took the bus again," Director Chiyo grumbled and wiggled her fingers distractedly.

Sakura lowered her tea cup back on the saucer and unzipped the protective bag to reveal her dress.

"It's just more time efficient," Sakura said sheepishly.

"Journalists having a field day is not time efficient for me!" Chiyo said curtly and nodded at Nozomi. "Bring it over here. I'm old enough to have poor eyesight and have all the excuses in the world."

Nozomi bowed and took the dress from Sakura to bring it to Chiyo. Sakura pressed her lips together, her eyes on her knees, as she waited for the director to inspect the dress.

"I'm surprised she picked this reddish bronze," Chiyo said and her smile was slow, sad.

"She said she didn't want me to look like a cupcake," Sakura replied awkwardly.

She risked a glance at the director. Her face was paler than usual, almost translucent, crisscrossed with thin blue veins visible. It stood out, darkened, in the contrast of the lit windows. There was an absence in her eyes sunken. The director nodded slowly to herself, touching the dress. Her fingers moved slowly, across the skirts of the dress.

"Ever wore a traditional dress?"

Sakura shook her head and felt the grip of her uneasiness, painful and sudden.

There was something that nagged at the back of her mind. The blue vein spreading like spiderwebs across her wrists. The billowing: '_Do I look dead?__'_ Sakura straightened her back slowly. She felt the motion as if her spine was snapping back into place. And everything clicked. She openly stared at Director Chiyo.

"Chiyo-sama..." she started and fumbled with words, with emotions rising, turbulent.

Chiyo's head turned back toward her, her expression stopping Sakura mid-sentence. She clamped her mouth shut.

They stared at each other.

Sakura clenched her fists over her knees.

Chiyo didn't avert her gaze.

"We aren't discussing it," Chiyo said roughly, her chest shaking with lukewarm laughter, and she turned her face toward the window. Her smile was the colour of ashes.

"Not until Temari gets married."

Sakura felt herself stiffened, her heart thumping wildly in her ears.

Chiyo waved the dress away and Nozomi calmly replace it in the protective bag before setting it back next to Sakura. She bowed low and turned on her heels to exit the room.

"It would put you in an awkward position too, wouldn't it?" Chiyo added. "You said you didn't want to be used."

'_But you do put me in that position!_' Sakura yelled inwardly, desperately. His entire family was.

"I don't, but..."

Holding up her hand, Chiyo stopped Sakura.

"Then, start telling me about those scans, Sakura. Do that for an old woman," she smiled, with a quiet ferocity that reminded Sakura of Gaara.

Sakura picked up the pile of MRI scans and medical files from in front of her. Slowly, she leafed through them, seeing no tumours, no internal bleeding, no brain damage.

"Sakura," Chiyo said crisply and clicked her tongue.

The world gradually came into focus again.

Sakura cleared her throat.

She moved to the edge of her seat and smoothed and straightened the pile of paperwork in front of her. '_Could she do this?_' she had once asked herself in this same seat. Could she be ruthless?

"Let me tell him and the others," Chiyo said sternly. "You don't need to burden yourself. You'll crease up soon enough... Look at me. I was once beautiful."

Sakura felt herself nod from a distance.

"Temari-sama's wedding is 10 days away," she whispered.

"And she'll smile on her wedding day," Director Chiyo replied stubbornly, her gaze ablaze met Sakura's.

"I understand," Sakura relented.

_Yes, she would be ruthless._

She started reading.

Chiyo relaxed in her seat.

* * *

The phone rang at 2:36 AM.

Sakura dreamt of an endless shrill alarm, bells and whistles going off in the distance. Chaos.

She dreamt of sirens. She dreamt of swinging doors and mechanical, droning instructions.

She dreamt of death.

The phone kept ringing.

"What?" Sakura grumbled, half-awake, and she blinked in the darkness. Her head fell back on her pillow.

Sirens, she kept thinking, sinking back asleep.

The phone slid off her night table and crashed on the floor.

Sakura sat up, startled. She held the bed sheets to her chest, disoriented and hot.

The soft light of the screen drew her gaze to the phone. Sakura tossed her bed sheets and blankets and pillows away from her, swearing under her breath in her native language. She bent over the bed, her fingers, weak and too warm, rummaging across the floor for her phone.

She narrowed her eyes at the caller ID.

"OI!" Sakura shouted in the phone. "Do you have any idea how late it is? Are you at the hospital or something?" She pressed a hand to her throbbing forehead.

Sakura dropped back on her back, her skin moist, her breath too loud in her ears.

"Gaara-sama!" she said and sat up again, agitated.

Sakura fumbled with the bedside lamp and turned it on.

"Hellooo," Gaara slurred.

Sakura froze. '_He can't be serious_,' she thought and clenched her jaw.

"What's wrong with your voice?" she asked as calmly as she could muster.

"Hn. What are you wearing?"

"What?" Sakura snapped.

He laughed, low and disjointed, as if he was juggling his phone in his hand. She heard a soft curse and something metallic dropped on the floor.

"Are you drunk?" Sakura asked, incredulous.

"No," Gaara drawled and his answer wavered again. "I was entertaining and now, I'm done. What are you doing?"

Sakura gritted her teeth, frustration building, beating at her temples.

"I was sleeping before you woke me up."

"Hn. What are you wearing?"

"Stop that, Gaara!"

"You called me Gaara," he said huskily, and Sakura could hear the smirk in his voice. "Why didn't you call today?"

'_Because your grandmother is sick._'

Sakura pinched the bridge of her nose. She hadn't put her cellphone in silent mode.

'_Because I hoped you would call __for once__._'

"You're coming home, right now," Sakura said stiffly and put her feet on floor.

"No, I'm at a hotel," Gaara said childishly.

"Take a fucking cab and come home," Sakura shouted and stood up. She started pacing in the room and gesturing angrily. "I don't like playing catch ball with your family. Do you hear me?"

"Did the snake come home?" Gaara asked with a briskly sober voice.

"What?" Sakura asked exasperated. "Just come home. I'm your wife, not your personal assistant managing your family." She swallowed hard. "I want you home. _Now_."

There was a pause that stretched, thick and uncomfortable. Her shoulders sank. She hated how she sounded needy.

'_I want you home._'

She wanted too many things. It had been easier when she knew she had nothing. Now, she was used to his presence, rounding on her like a clockwork. And she couldn't shake the sinking feeling that he didn't want to come home.

"You may not have realized because I'm good at hiding it… but I'm drunk," Gaara whispered, and it wasn't what she wanted to hear. And she hated, hated that it wasn't. She closed her eyes.

"Very drunk," he rambled on. "So drunk. I can't drive home."

"Oh really?" Sakura said sarcastically to hide the hurt from her voice. "I can smell alcohol from this side of the phone."

"Liar," Gaara rasped.

Sakura sighed and started to sift through basked of clean clothes she hadn't folded yet. Holding her phone to her ear with her shoulder, she removed her pyjama bottoms and kicked them off. Quickly, she put on her yoga pants, feeling self-conscious even if he couldn't see her.

"Where are you?" Sakura asked. "I'm coming to get you."

"I'll tell you on one condition."

"Gaara!" she cried out, throwing her head back.

She breathed deeply through her nose. '_I'm so tired of this_,' she thought, then she forced herself to move again. She switched to speaker mode and dropped her phone on the bed to pull on a sweatshirt over her pyjama top.

"Just one condition," Gaara whispered, and it travelled down her spine.

"What?" she said with difficultly and sat on the bed to put on her socks.

"Tell me what you're wearing."

Sakura froze. She turned her head toward the phone, her cheeks hot. He laughed quietly, and she shook her head. She rolled her eyes even if her mouth was dry and she was burning up.

"Absolutely nothing," she said sarcastically. "Now where are you?"

"Hn. Cheeky. Hotel next to the airport."

"Where are the car keys?"

"With me. I needed them."

Sakura gathered her hair in a ponytail. She grabbed her phone off the bed and hurried out of the door. She pressed it back against her ear.

"The ones for the car that's still here," she said impatiently and jogged down the stairs.

"Where I usually put them," Gaara said simply.

"Where?"

She gritted her teeth, spinning on herself, and switched on the lights. Quickly, she scanned the kitchen counter and the coffee table in the living room.

"You don't pay attention like I do," Gaara grumbled weakly.

Sakura groaned and searched across the kitchen island for the keys. She then walked to the small table before the entrance. The keys were hanging there amid other keys labelled with his siblings' names and colour-coded. Her eyebrow twitched.

"I pay very close attention to you," Gaara continued.

'_Of course, he colour-coded his keys,_' she thought and grabbed his keys.

"Like I notice you don't wear a bra with your pink pyjamas."

Sakura almost dropped her phone. Her gaze dropping to her chest. Her face flushed.

She hadn't put a bra on.

"Text me the address," Sakura said quickly, her saliva thick, and hung up abruptly.

She ran back upstairs.

* * *

Her eyes on Gaara, Sakura took the 2L water bottle out of her purse. She had never seen him asleep, she realized. He still wore his suit, and he was lying on his stomach on top of the covers, his face disappearing under a pillow. Still watching him, Sakura unscrewed the cap of the bottle, took a sip.

She stepped closer to the bed.

He didn't stir.

"Will that be all, o-san?" the housekeeper asked meekly from behind her.

Sakura felt herself nod.

"Yes, thank you."

The housekeeper glanced curiously between them and bowed. She closed the door behind her.

Gaara still didn't stir, his curled fists around the pillow supporting his head.

Sakura took another sip from her water bottle. She sighed. Then, she rotated her wrist and let the water splash on his head.

He startled awake, sitting up.

With wild eyes, Gaara looked around him, his mouth stretched open. He didn't make a sound. His chest heaved and heaved. His gaze focused on her. He exhaled. He groaned. He rubbed at his face.

"Hello, honey."

Sakura smiled sweetly and shook the half-empty bottle in her hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I bet you can all feel the drama llama about to hit, so to alleviate concerns: Next chapter, they'll be stuck in a plane together, so plenty of together time ahead. Huehuehe!
> 
> Stay safe, guys!


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